A few days later I got another invitation to be with my new friends, Robin and James. If I didn't need an additional incentive, I was feeling my period coming on. That's the time of the month when I am frantically, insatiably, recklessly horny. Same hotel, same room. James met me at the door and his brown eyes glittered in appreciation of the little black dress I was wearing. My coat dropped to the floor. He took me in his arms and started a marathon of kissing, light, deep French, lips all over my face, ears and neck. I was panting in anticipation.
"Where's Robin?"
"She's running late," he said, nibbling my neck, letting my hair fall into his face. "You are the hottest goddamned woman I've ever seen, Amber."
I was against the wall of the entryway into the room as we continued to make out. As he kissed me, he fondled my breasts, gently pinching my nipples. Then his hands wrapped around my waist and I could feel his fingers searching for my panty line. "Such a bad girl," he murmured, as he realized I wasn't wearing anything beneath the dress. His hard penis poked against me through his tailored slacks. I reached down and unzipped him, letting it hang out freely as I wrapped my hand around the shafted and stroked up and down. He reached under my hemline and brushed my bush, put a finger inside me. All this while we stood there, kissing like teenagers. I tried to guide us inside to the bed, but he kept me there.
"I want you now," he said, and in a flash the slacks and boxers were at his ankles. He pushed me against the wall, raised my hips with his hands. My legs went up and he slipped right in, mashing my back against the wall. We fucked, my legs wrapped around his lower back, his thick cock impaling me, his hands holding me in the air. He was strong as hell; all I really had to do was enjoy, which I did. It had been years since a man had fucked me against a wall...back in...hell, my mind was too fuck-addled for history. His breathing picked up and I was whimpering and moaning, his cock finding its way deeper and deeper into me. "Amber...oh, my god...fuck...," he yelled and I felt his pelvis and legs shudder as he came. The man was no boor: He held me there, his cock still inside me, kissing me gently. Finally I felt him go soft and slip out. He eased me down, then picked me up and carried me to the bed, where he slowly undressed me, what little there was to undress.
He used the little black dress to brush lightly across my nipples, which were so hard already. Amazing feeling. Then he started licking them in concentric circles, one nipple, then the other, back and forth, each time applying more pressure until he was really sucking hard, which I love. I pulled off his shirt and ran my hands across the light hair on his chest. Then he eased me back down and dropped down on the bed. I felt his mouth on my right foot, licking and sucking my toes. It sent bolts of pleasure up my legs into my pussy. For maybe the next 30 minutes he gave me "the treatment," licking and kissing up one leg, then the other, lingering on my inner thigh. Then I felt his tongue on my clit and shuddered. He wasn't going to let me off that easy, though. He backed down and started running his tongue around my pussy lips, then he tongue-fucking me, causing me to get pretty noisy but not go over the edge. I felt him sucking at me. A good Kegel girl, I bore down and gave him a taste of his come. Was it. He rose up and French kissed me with a huge glob of semen mingled with my pussy juices. Our tongues danced in it before I swallowed the goo. That had me bucking and grinding against him, I was so desperate to come. He went back and brought me off expertly with his tongue, then fucked me awhile missionary — not bad for an "old guy." I had an aftershock through my pelvis with every stroke. "Oh, a scratcher and and screamer," he said, looking down on me. I hadn't noticed. Then he held me as I came down off the orgasm plateau.
"Robin's not coming."
This broke me reverie. I asked why. "She has her own lover tonight, a younger guy. Maybe we'll invite him sometime."
This made me vaguely uneasy, as I had checked them both out before embarking on this little adventure, and I knew nothing of Robin having a separate lover.
"Does she know you're with me?"
"Sure," he said. It was a lie, I knew it.
"I just had to have you, Amber."
I didn't resist as he pulled me on top of him and I slipped his penis inside me and started to ride.
Showing posts with label miniskirt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miniskirt. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Cape Cod memories
Work just took me to Cape Cod. It was wintery and icy, with the ocean the color of lead. Despite this, the landscape brought back an amazing sense memory. I was 21, in college in Boston, with long red hair and, as a girlfriend said, a body to die for. In the late spring, a boyfriend and I spent a long weekend on the Cape. Everything was blooming and the sea was a deep blue, mirroring the cloudless sky. It wasn’t crowded with tourists yet, just enough people that things didn’t seem as desolate as the past few days in real time. He was tall, dark, athletic build, magical mind. He had dark, curly hair and a dick with a thick shaft and small head, which created an interesting sensation when he was inside me. We took a bag of books to read but ended up fucking what seemed the entire three days. I don’t think I read a thing.
The “tone” of the trip was set when we found a secluded beach, laid down a blanket and screwed. I had on a denim miniskirt, and he – a great kisser, this one – laid next to me and kissed my lips, face and neck while his fingers found their way inside my panties. By the time he pulled them off, they were wet and I was panting. He stripped off his jeans and slipped inside, riding me at an easy pace even though I was already moaning loudly, right on the edge of coming. The nature all around, from the sea bird calls to the breeze to the openness of the terrain only added to the arousal. My skirt was hiked up on my hips and he raised my legs over this shoulders and really started fucking me. The feeling of his balls against my hips was incredible. I came with a scream, which only added to his momentum. He moaned, shuddered and collapsed on top of me. We held each other with the ardent passion that only comes with youth and then laid side-by-side, staring up at the puffy clouds that had started to roll by. It didn’t take him long to get hard again, and I gave him a long blowjob; it certainly wasn’t given with the skill I later learned, but he didn’t complain. Those young balls gave me a nice full load that spurted all the way into my throat.
Later, we checked into a bed-and-breakfast and became notorious. As you know, dear reader, I am loud when I make love. It only took a couple of hours before there was a knock at the door and the yuppie-matronly owner told us to quiet down. Did I see a little smile in her eye? After that, I tried the “don’t wake the children” style that I imagine parents must learn, stifling my moans by biting my lower lip, and eventually screaming into a pillow as he was fucking me hard from behind. Oh, he wanted to fuck my virgin asshole, but I wouldn’t let him.
We ate lobster in Provincetown (I still have a picture of us wearing bibs and looking goofy). We were, ahem, in the minority as a straight couple. He dared me to pick up a girl at one of the bars, but I was too chicken then — even though I’d crossed that slutty threshold with Pam. It was tempting, though, and only added to the sexual vibe. I challenged him to pick up a guy; men were already eyeing him. "See how they're looking at your crotch?" I teased. He got all discombobulated, as men usually do, and refused.
The last morning, we made slow love in the bed of our notorious lodgings. Missionary style. My knees up and against him, and then my legs and feet resting against the backs of his thighs. The windows were open, birds were singing, and a cool breeze caressed our naked bodies. After he came and lay next to me, I thought: Could life get any better? Now I think, Was I ever that young? Back to the present, one night I did stop at a bar in Provincetown for a light dinner and a martini. I had a long talk with a woman next to me: Short blond hair, sweetheart face, buff body, about my age. As closing time approached, we made out a little — she had a snaky, inviting tongue — and she invited me to her house. I demurred. There’s a lot of truth to the old saw: What does a lesbian bring on the second date? A U-Haul. And I wasn’t looking to be her wife. Anyway, I was on the job.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Learning to juggle
I started masturbating at age thirteen (back off, pervs). It seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Even though our family was very repressed -- I swear my parents only had sex three times, resulting in me and my two siblings -- I was fascinated by my body, its urges, the changes I felt coming over me, and the outside world saturated with sex. The bad girls in school fascinated me, even though I was, sadly, a very good girl. But late at night, when the house was quiet and dark, I would lie in bed and explore. When I accidentally found my clit and got my first baby orgasm, I was hooked. One night my mother burst into my room, as was her wont, and found her eldest daughter naked and spread wide, fiery pubic hair and all, hands down in private parts. I could see her blush even in the dark. She closed and door and stomped off, never saying a word.
I'd fantasize about guys and none more so than Steve. He was tall, with wavy dark hair and wine-dark eyes and that indefinable and unlearnable gift called "cool." In a high school of suburban achievers, he was a hood: ran with the wrong crowd, spent lots of time in the city, drank and dealt pot, rode a rice rocket and drove a hot car. And yet he was very funny and clever when he chose to be, much more mature in many ways. I had a monster crush on him even as I spent my senior year in a steady relationship with Mike. Steve was a year older and unapproachable (I didn't have the confidence I would later acquire, or realize the power of even average-looking women). Steve noticed me, especially when I wore my cheerleader outfit. But we barely knew each other. He was also pussynip in the way of certain dangerous guys and never lacked girlfriends. As I moved into cocksucking with Mike, keeping my virginity technically intact, sometimes I imagined I was fellating Steve the bad boy.
I went to Boston for my first year of college while Mike stayed in Seattle, attending school there. We visited each other and that summer I lost my virginity to him. No complaints there; he was the perfect starter boyfriend. Definitely cute and with a future. Other girls envied me. But one night at the supermarket, I ran into Steve. He knew my name. We talked and he asked me out. My panties were getting wet just standing there.
The next night I wore a little black dress and he wore torn jeans. He took me across the floating bridge into Seattle on his motorcycle, my dress flopping wildly and no doubt revealingly, my clit feeling the vibration of the bike, my arms wrapped around his muscular middle. We bar hopped through Pioneer Square, him drinking three beers for every one I sipped. When we ended up at his apartment in an old four-story brick building in an iffy neighborhood (now gentrified), it just seemed a given. He didn't ask my permission as he put his strong hands on my shoulders and guided me into his bedroom. It was little more than a futon on the floor with iffy sheets, but I was dizzy with arousal. We'd been making out in the bars and he was an incredible kisser, a little forbidden cigarette smoke on his breath.
I was soon down on the futon, my panties tossed aside, black dress still on and his dick pushing into my recently virginal pussy. My breath went out with an "oooph" and my pussy walls alternately opened and tightened. God, it felt good. My abstract brain was thinking: Moving very fast here...second lover in two months... The rest of me just wanted to be fucked, which Steve did expertly. He raised himself on his arms and danced his pelvis up and down, swiveling. This was definitely not Mike. I was moaning and having little orgasms when he came with a loud moan and collapsed on top of me, falling asleep. I just ran my hands through that dreamy hair and thought, wow. In an hour, he was ready again and I sucked him off. He recovered in no time and got the dress off, worked over my breasts and nipples and fucked me more.
That's how much of the summer went: juggling Steve and Mike. I felt guilty but always aroused. More than once I slept with one while the other's semen was inside me...I was a sore Susie some weekends. It was impossible not to compare the two, from anatomy to how they loved on me. Steve taught me to fuck with my legs over his shoulders, doggy style. He'd fuck me like I wasn't there, and then like I was the only woman in the world. It was a scary magnetism. Mike was solid and dependable, sweet. But there was the backbeat of expectations: come home and go to college here, visit his parents, get married, have kids. Steve didn't give a shit. He just wanted to fuck. Neither one lasted. I went back to Boston and entered a life that Mike couldn't have handled ("Sorry, Honey, it's classified. How was your day?"). I wasn't going to be Steve's biker chick, either. Last I heard, he was serving ten years for drug dealing. And Mike got married, had kids, got divorced, remarried. But sometimes, when the night is right and I see a couple of kids on a motorcycle, I think of Steve and he still thrills me.
I'd fantasize about guys and none more so than Steve. He was tall, with wavy dark hair and wine-dark eyes and that indefinable and unlearnable gift called "cool." In a high school of suburban achievers, he was a hood: ran with the wrong crowd, spent lots of time in the city, drank and dealt pot, rode a rice rocket and drove a hot car. And yet he was very funny and clever when he chose to be, much more mature in many ways. I had a monster crush on him even as I spent my senior year in a steady relationship with Mike. Steve was a year older and unapproachable (I didn't have the confidence I would later acquire, or realize the power of even average-looking women). Steve noticed me, especially when I wore my cheerleader outfit. But we barely knew each other. He was also pussynip in the way of certain dangerous guys and never lacked girlfriends. As I moved into cocksucking with Mike, keeping my virginity technically intact, sometimes I imagined I was fellating Steve the bad boy.
I went to Boston for my first year of college while Mike stayed in Seattle, attending school there. We visited each other and that summer I lost my virginity to him. No complaints there; he was the perfect starter boyfriend. Definitely cute and with a future. Other girls envied me. But one night at the supermarket, I ran into Steve. He knew my name. We talked and he asked me out. My panties were getting wet just standing there.
The next night I wore a little black dress and he wore torn jeans. He took me across the floating bridge into Seattle on his motorcycle, my dress flopping wildly and no doubt revealingly, my clit feeling the vibration of the bike, my arms wrapped around his muscular middle. We bar hopped through Pioneer Square, him drinking three beers for every one I sipped. When we ended up at his apartment in an old four-story brick building in an iffy neighborhood (now gentrified), it just seemed a given. He didn't ask my permission as he put his strong hands on my shoulders and guided me into his bedroom. It was little more than a futon on the floor with iffy sheets, but I was dizzy with arousal. We'd been making out in the bars and he was an incredible kisser, a little forbidden cigarette smoke on his breath.
I was soon down on the futon, my panties tossed aside, black dress still on and his dick pushing into my recently virginal pussy. My breath went out with an "oooph" and my pussy walls alternately opened and tightened. God, it felt good. My abstract brain was thinking: Moving very fast here...second lover in two months... The rest of me just wanted to be fucked, which Steve did expertly. He raised himself on his arms and danced his pelvis up and down, swiveling. This was definitely not Mike. I was moaning and having little orgasms when he came with a loud moan and collapsed on top of me, falling asleep. I just ran my hands through that dreamy hair and thought, wow. In an hour, he was ready again and I sucked him off. He recovered in no time and got the dress off, worked over my breasts and nipples and fucked me more.
That's how much of the summer went: juggling Steve and Mike. I felt guilty but always aroused. More than once I slept with one while the other's semen was inside me...I was a sore Susie some weekends. It was impossible not to compare the two, from anatomy to how they loved on me. Steve taught me to fuck with my legs over his shoulders, doggy style. He'd fuck me like I wasn't there, and then like I was the only woman in the world. It was a scary magnetism. Mike was solid and dependable, sweet. But there was the backbeat of expectations: come home and go to college here, visit his parents, get married, have kids. Steve didn't give a shit. He just wanted to fuck. Neither one lasted. I went back to Boston and entered a life that Mike couldn't have handled ("Sorry, Honey, it's classified. How was your day?"). I wasn't going to be Steve's biker chick, either. Last I heard, he was serving ten years for drug dealing. And Mike got married, had kids, got divorced, remarried. But sometimes, when the night is right and I see a couple of kids on a motorcycle, I think of Steve and he still thrills me.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Dresses I've known (and been known in) Part II
My friend Pam and I were very, very bad a couple of times in college, miniskirt-wise. We put on our sexiest short skirts and found places to sit while doing a "Sharon Stone" leg crossing as men walked by. Then we'd be bitchy cold if they tried to hit on us. Oh, did I say we weren't wearing panties — and with my titian red pubic hair the view up my skirt was unmistakable. No, horny guy, you didn't just imagine that. I have to say, we looked great. That happens when one is twenty. Afterward, we'd be so damned horny that we'd either end up in bed with each other, or have to go off and find our boyfriends of the moment and get some hard fucking. And they thought we were so aroused and came so fast because they were such studs.
Being out in public with no underwear and in a short skirt, too, was an amazing sensory feeling. The fingers of warm summer air tickling up my legs and into my pussy. Nothing between me and the outside world. My long legs, all 5'8" of me ("five-six of that legs," as my ex-husband said) striding through nature oh-so-naturally. Liberating, yes. A turn-on — most definitely. Especially with the eyes on me. I knew what they were thinking, and what if they knew those long legs led up to no panties...
This little adventure was quite the drive into Nasty County for a girl who was still shaking off her uptight, anti-sex, theocratic upbringing. On the other hand, it had risks. Boston then wasn't as gentrified as today, and the hoods were abundant. One day we did our beaver show off campus and a gang of five tough, working-class Irish kids started following us. This was long before I knew martial arts, much less carried a weapon. We were terrified. We gave them the slip at Downtown Crossing. Otherwise, I could imagine being dragged back to Southie or Dorchester for a couple of days of gang rape. Doing this to what they perceived as stuck-up, upper-class college girls would have only added to the allure, and probably brutality. The public defender would have said we were "asking for it." Twenty, cute and stupid. This scared us out of going commando so flagrantly. But I still do it occasionally still. (Pam is now a suburban mommie who wears long jumpers -- sigh).
Short skirts provoked so many consensual fuckings. In recent years, a long-distance lover checked into a hotel and I knocked on his door. I had on a tight, mid-calf skirt. Tasteful but men noticed, especially "leg men." It got his attention. He pulled me inside. After about ten minutes of the most divine kissing and embracing, he steered me into the nearby bathroom, hiked me up on the vanity, pulled his cock out of his suit-trousers and started fucking me. My panties never even made it past one ankle. They shook there like a little storm flag as he frantically screwed me. After we both came and disengaged, his semen spilled onto the inside of the skirt's fabric.
Oh, if I had ten dollars for every time that's happened in my life, or sperm otherwise ended up on one of my short skirts. That cool liquid feeling against the backs of my thighs as I drove home from an interlude. Those skits made for great "access" during college for outdoor and quasi-public sex. A guy fucked me on the hood of his fancy car one night, out on a country road. My khaki miniskirt pushed up to my waist and the breeze wafted over my legs and ass as he mounted me. We left heel and knee prints in the hood, and I bet they would hear me screaming that singular getting-fucked scream a mile away. Another guy pushed me up against a railing at a deserted ocean overlook and took me from behind, just pushing aside the thong I was wearing under the short skirt. I looked out at the waves and somehow that made my orgasm more intense.
A boyfriend in grad school and I were on the train. I was in a denim mini. He just kept reaching over and fingering me. I almost came and was starting to moan when the conductor started through the car and I moved his sweet hand. My first married man lover took me out to a fancy restaurant. I was wearing my first little black dress. He sat across from me and I felt his stocking foot against my calves. Pretty soon it was up inside my crotch expertly "fingering" me. He got quite a kick out of watching me flush and stifle moans while he looked on with great innocence. The toe of his socks ended up quite damp.
And that leaves the grand history of Linda Sue in little black dresses...for another day.
Being out in public with no underwear and in a short skirt, too, was an amazing sensory feeling. The fingers of warm summer air tickling up my legs and into my pussy. Nothing between me and the outside world. My long legs, all 5'8" of me ("five-six of that legs," as my ex-husband said) striding through nature oh-so-naturally. Liberating, yes. A turn-on — most definitely. Especially with the eyes on me. I knew what they were thinking, and what if they knew those long legs led up to no panties...
This little adventure was quite the drive into Nasty County for a girl who was still shaking off her uptight, anti-sex, theocratic upbringing. On the other hand, it had risks. Boston then wasn't as gentrified as today, and the hoods were abundant. One day we did our beaver show off campus and a gang of five tough, working-class Irish kids started following us. This was long before I knew martial arts, much less carried a weapon. We were terrified. We gave them the slip at Downtown Crossing. Otherwise, I could imagine being dragged back to Southie or Dorchester for a couple of days of gang rape. Doing this to what they perceived as stuck-up, upper-class college girls would have only added to the allure, and probably brutality. The public defender would have said we were "asking for it." Twenty, cute and stupid. This scared us out of going commando so flagrantly. But I still do it occasionally still. (Pam is now a suburban mommie who wears long jumpers -- sigh).
Short skirts provoked so many consensual fuckings. In recent years, a long-distance lover checked into a hotel and I knocked on his door. I had on a tight, mid-calf skirt. Tasteful but men noticed, especially "leg men." It got his attention. He pulled me inside. After about ten minutes of the most divine kissing and embracing, he steered me into the nearby bathroom, hiked me up on the vanity, pulled his cock out of his suit-trousers and started fucking me. My panties never even made it past one ankle. They shook there like a little storm flag as he frantically screwed me. After we both came and disengaged, his semen spilled onto the inside of the skirt's fabric.
Oh, if I had ten dollars for every time that's happened in my life, or sperm otherwise ended up on one of my short skirts. That cool liquid feeling against the backs of my thighs as I drove home from an interlude. Those skits made for great "access" during college for outdoor and quasi-public sex. A guy fucked me on the hood of his fancy car one night, out on a country road. My khaki miniskirt pushed up to my waist and the breeze wafted over my legs and ass as he mounted me. We left heel and knee prints in the hood, and I bet they would hear me screaming that singular getting-fucked scream a mile away. Another guy pushed me up against a railing at a deserted ocean overlook and took me from behind, just pushing aside the thong I was wearing under the short skirt. I looked out at the waves and somehow that made my orgasm more intense.
A boyfriend in grad school and I were on the train. I was in a denim mini. He just kept reaching over and fingering me. I almost came and was starting to moan when the conductor started through the car and I moved his sweet hand. My first married man lover took me out to a fancy restaurant. I was wearing my first little black dress. He sat across from me and I felt his stocking foot against my calves. Pretty soon it was up inside my crotch expertly "fingering" me. He got quite a kick out of watching me flush and stifle moans while he looked on with great innocence. The toe of his socks ended up quite damp.
And that leaves the grand history of Linda Sue in little black dresses...for another day.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Dresses I've known (and been known in) Part I
My sister Amber got the tits in the family. Men still stare at her chest, making her uncomfortable. I got the legs and ass, learning early that men paid attention. I always favored miniskirts as a result, despite my mother's contention that I dressed like a "harlot." My dresses have so many stories to tell. Here are a few.
My cheerleader outfit. Our high school had traditional sweaters and short-pleated skirts. Nothing as revealing as today, but to my mind more sexy. It was all about legs. On game days I would wear my cheer outfit through the school day to bring the team luck. I also noticed that more than one boy would be staring at me with a tent rising in his pants. One night after a game, I was outside the school when one of my father's friends pulled up and offered me a ride home. I sat into the plush leather of his Mercedes and we drove off. He was a physician and a member of our church, and pretty soon he was expertly running his hand along my thigh. I didn't make him stop. It felt amazing, every nerve in my body shimmering right into my pussy. I could smell my scent and was so wet I worried about his car seat. We pulled over and he pulled me into him and kissed me. It was a deep, full adult kiss, very different from the awkward smooches I had received from my boyfriend. He moved his hand up the inside of my thigh but was foiled by the tight shorts underneath. So all he could do was finger me through the fabric as we made out — I still had a baby orgasm. He unzipped his pants and his erect penis popped out. My mouth wanted it, pure instinct taking over. But I was afraid, so I just stoked it awhile. Then he drove me home. I didn't know how I felt about the whole thing, still being somewhat in thrall of my family's sexual hangups. I was still a virgin. So I felt guilty and avoided him. When he was around my dad, like a lot of dad's friends, he often had those hungry eyes on me.
I never had sex in the cheerleader outfit when I was a cheerleader. But I kept it, and can still fit into it. It's seen me through many a burn-the-paint-off-the-walls role play.
Denim and khaki skirts. I wore these quite a bit in college during the spring and summer. Most were about mid-thigh, a few shorter. I can't count the number of times a boy or man said, "leave it on," as he fucked me. One at a bar whispered that he's love to see that miniskirt crumpled on the floor at the foot of his bed. I didn't go home with him, but I became aroused anyway, corny line and all. As I recall, I had on a khaki mini the night I barely escaped a gang bang at the frat house. Another one was on the night I was drunk out of my mind and was basically raped by a stranger. Not so good. But it didn't stop me from showing leg. Once I was walking down a street and caused a wreck — a man was watching my saucy walk and my legs and rear-ended an SUV.
In college, the boys were very insistent, lacking any real seduction skills or willingness to let things unfold. They loved to dance or stand at the bar, running a hand inside the hem of my skirt, trying to get inside my panties. Sometimes I stopped them. But for the boys I chose to sleep with, the miniskirt — me in the mini — was definitely "the point of entry" in the attraction. They'd hump me in that endearingly demanding way of young men, but almost always asking me to rub my legs against them, or wrap my legs around them. I didn't need any coaxing, because I loved it, too. And at 5'8", I can do a good job of leg wrapping.
I played tennis for awhile, something expected at my expensive school back east. Oh, I loved that white tennis dress. Virgin-whore, whatever. It made me feel sexy. More than one player's game was destroyed by watching me walk by. I was no Steffi Graf on the court, but I could outfuck her in bed, I bet. One boyfriend played with me regularly, and our games invariably ended back at his place with me being fucked in my tennis whites. One time he fucked me on the grass in a secluded (we thought) spot. I never got those grass stains out.
My cheerleader outfit. Our high school had traditional sweaters and short-pleated skirts. Nothing as revealing as today, but to my mind more sexy. It was all about legs. On game days I would wear my cheer outfit through the school day to bring the team luck. I also noticed that more than one boy would be staring at me with a tent rising in his pants. One night after a game, I was outside the school when one of my father's friends pulled up and offered me a ride home. I sat into the plush leather of his Mercedes and we drove off. He was a physician and a member of our church, and pretty soon he was expertly running his hand along my thigh. I didn't make him stop. It felt amazing, every nerve in my body shimmering right into my pussy. I could smell my scent and was so wet I worried about his car seat. We pulled over and he pulled me into him and kissed me. It was a deep, full adult kiss, very different from the awkward smooches I had received from my boyfriend. He moved his hand up the inside of my thigh but was foiled by the tight shorts underneath. So all he could do was finger me through the fabric as we made out — I still had a baby orgasm. He unzipped his pants and his erect penis popped out. My mouth wanted it, pure instinct taking over. But I was afraid, so I just stoked it awhile. Then he drove me home. I didn't know how I felt about the whole thing, still being somewhat in thrall of my family's sexual hangups. I was still a virgin. So I felt guilty and avoided him. When he was around my dad, like a lot of dad's friends, he often had those hungry eyes on me.
I never had sex in the cheerleader outfit when I was a cheerleader. But I kept it, and can still fit into it. It's seen me through many a burn-the-paint-off-the-walls role play.
Denim and khaki skirts. I wore these quite a bit in college during the spring and summer. Most were about mid-thigh, a few shorter. I can't count the number of times a boy or man said, "leave it on," as he fucked me. One at a bar whispered that he's love to see that miniskirt crumpled on the floor at the foot of his bed. I didn't go home with him, but I became aroused anyway, corny line and all. As I recall, I had on a khaki mini the night I barely escaped a gang bang at the frat house. Another one was on the night I was drunk out of my mind and was basically raped by a stranger. Not so good. But it didn't stop me from showing leg. Once I was walking down a street and caused a wreck — a man was watching my saucy walk and my legs and rear-ended an SUV.
In college, the boys were very insistent, lacking any real seduction skills or willingness to let things unfold. They loved to dance or stand at the bar, running a hand inside the hem of my skirt, trying to get inside my panties. Sometimes I stopped them. But for the boys I chose to sleep with, the miniskirt — me in the mini — was definitely "the point of entry" in the attraction. They'd hump me in that endearingly demanding way of young men, but almost always asking me to rub my legs against them, or wrap my legs around them. I didn't need any coaxing, because I loved it, too. And at 5'8", I can do a good job of leg wrapping.
I played tennis for awhile, something expected at my expensive school back east. Oh, I loved that white tennis dress. Virgin-whore, whatever. It made me feel sexy. More than one player's game was destroyed by watching me walk by. I was no Steffi Graf on the court, but I could outfuck her in bed, I bet. One boyfriend played with me regularly, and our games invariably ended back at his place with me being fucked in my tennis whites. One time he fucked me on the grass in a secluded (we thought) spot. I never got those grass stains out.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Earning extra credit
I've been reading the book, The Death of American Virtue, about the Clinton impeachment. Back in college I had my own Monica Lewinsky moment. I was having an affair with one of my professors. A very nice man, who is a well-regarded scholar at an elite university in the northeast -- I'll leave it at that. He was married, of course, and old enough to be my dad. But he was incredible horny and good in bed.
In one of our sessions, we got a motel room and he had just sat on the bed when I dropped to my knees, unzipped his pants, and watched his cock spring out at the ready. I took him in my mouth and spent a long time licking, teasing and sucking. I was still perfecting my techniques. He wasn't complaining at all. Sometimes I would look up at him and smile while I kept jerking him off, then I would go back to earning extra credit. On this occasion, he came suddenly. I felt a little salty, bitter come on my tongue, then came a big spurt of stringy semen. I wasn't ready for it and gagged, pulling away. A viscous white string connected my mouth to his cock head and soon landed on my blouse. I picked up some of it with my fingers and swallowed it, trying to look sultry. But sure enough, I went back to my dorm with a big come stain on between my breasts. My roommate Pam smiled...she knew what it meant. And it sure wasn't, "I spilled a milkshake." It wasn't a blue dress, but, hey...
Another time, I came to class wearing a very short khaki miniskirt, no panties, and sitting in the front row. It was a lecture hall with raised seating for the students, so he could see all the way to Omaha when I opened and crossed my legs, which I did several times. At first, he grew red in the face, and I could tell he was growing elsewhere. Usually, he liked to walk around as he lectured. This time, he stayed safely behind the podium.
Afterwards, he said, "Linda, I need to see you in my office." So I obligingly went with him. Once the door was closed, he nearly threw me against the wall, smothering me with kisses, his hard cock pressing against me from inside his pants. I was already wet and could smell my pussy.
He put his hands on my waist and lifted me on his desk. I was still fully clothed, but the skirt had already ridden up and I opened my legs. I heard his pants unzip and his cock pushed inside me. He fucked me like a maniac, my legs wrapped around him, his hands firmly on my back. Panting in my ear, "Linda...God!...You feel so good!" He lasted maybe two minutes but it was enough for both of us to come. He held me and kissed me, whispering my name...so adult. And his cock finally slipped out of me. His semen and my pussy juice had mingled to make a nice stain on his blotter. But there was also a wet, white stain all over the front of his pants. He had been so eager to fuck me that he hadn't even pulled down his pants.
It was only then that we saw the group of young men and one woman in the adjoining building watching us. Nothing ever came, so to speak, of that public sex. As for how he explained the stain on his trousers to wifey...I never found out.
In one of our sessions, we got a motel room and he had just sat on the bed when I dropped to my knees, unzipped his pants, and watched his cock spring out at the ready. I took him in my mouth and spent a long time licking, teasing and sucking. I was still perfecting my techniques. He wasn't complaining at all. Sometimes I would look up at him and smile while I kept jerking him off, then I would go back to earning extra credit. On this occasion, he came suddenly. I felt a little salty, bitter come on my tongue, then came a big spurt of stringy semen. I wasn't ready for it and gagged, pulling away. A viscous white string connected my mouth to his cock head and soon landed on my blouse. I picked up some of it with my fingers and swallowed it, trying to look sultry. But sure enough, I went back to my dorm with a big come stain on between my breasts. My roommate Pam smiled...she knew what it meant. And it sure wasn't, "I spilled a milkshake." It wasn't a blue dress, but, hey...
Another time, I came to class wearing a very short khaki miniskirt, no panties, and sitting in the front row. It was a lecture hall with raised seating for the students, so he could see all the way to Omaha when I opened and crossed my legs, which I did several times. At first, he grew red in the face, and I could tell he was growing elsewhere. Usually, he liked to walk around as he lectured. This time, he stayed safely behind the podium.
Afterwards, he said, "Linda, I need to see you in my office." So I obligingly went with him. Once the door was closed, he nearly threw me against the wall, smothering me with kisses, his hard cock pressing against me from inside his pants. I was already wet and could smell my pussy.
He put his hands on my waist and lifted me on his desk. I was still fully clothed, but the skirt had already ridden up and I opened my legs. I heard his pants unzip and his cock pushed inside me. He fucked me like a maniac, my legs wrapped around him, his hands firmly on my back. Panting in my ear, "Linda...God!...You feel so good!" He lasted maybe two minutes but it was enough for both of us to come. He held me and kissed me, whispering my name...so adult. And his cock finally slipped out of me. His semen and my pussy juice had mingled to make a nice stain on his blotter. But there was also a wet, white stain all over the front of his pants. He had been so eager to fuck me that he hadn't even pulled down his pants.
It was only then that we saw the group of young men and one woman in the adjoining building watching us. Nothing ever came, so to speak, of that public sex. As for how he explained the stain on his trousers to wifey...I never found out.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
A surprise at a party
Things had been pretty dull lately — Wendy is trying to reconcile with her husband, and only coming by occasionally for some guilt-laden orgasms. Chad is busy in school. And I've been working like hell — all the nuts out there stockpiling ammo, threatening the president and others. What a country!
On Saturday night, I went to a relatively fancy party of a girlfriend out in Maryland and of course got into trouble. It was crowded and lubricated with booze. I was wearing a killer miniskirt ensemble. Pretty soon I could see this guy had his radar lock on me. He glided over: Dark, wavy hair, broad shoulders, seasoned handsome face, well-dressed. Introduced himself as David. Oh, and the blonde next to him was his wife, Linda. (Weirdly, this is not the first time something like this has happened to me — some men are really into certain names).
As the party progresses, we keep "running into" each other — he wants to talk, and much more. I'm horny and a superb flirt. But he is, too and I'm attracted to him. Blonde Linda is giving me daggers.
About an hour into things, I went out into the garden to get some air — honestly, it was amazingly stuffy and hot with that many people crowded into the house. Outside, it was cool on my bare legs. I was in a little grotto daydreaming, when I feel hands on my shoulders. I turn around and David is giving me this tiny, knowing smile. I let him keep his hands there, and in a moment they're down on my arms, then cupping my breasts. I hear myself give an audible sigh and I can feel his cock hard against my ass. He gently rubs my nipples and nestles his face in my hair. "My God, you are beautiful," he says. Any woman who's forty wants to hear that. "I have the right name, too," I say.
The next thing I know his penis is inside me and he's fucking me and I'm fucking him back. He was very slick in his moves, very sure of what he wanted. I am bent forward, my skirt raised and panties slipped aside, my hands resting on a low wall as he takes me from behind. And there is some taking involved...he just pushed me forward, bent me over...I felt his fingers pulling my panties aside and then the head of his cock was sliding into me. It felt great, as did the forbiddenness of it. The talk and laughter from the house made it seem like we were fucking for an audience. He took me with long, hard strokes, but had a firm hold on my pelvis so I wasn't going anywhere. He didn't last that long, but neither did I. I let out a muffled moan as my orgasm shook me and he came immediately, moaning too. We just stood that way for several minutes. Then he slipped out, turned me around and kissed me passionately. Our first kiss.
I didn't see him until I was about to leave — happy and full of come. He and blonde Linda were outside arguing. I went quietly to my car.
I didn't expect to hear from David again. But I did...
I'll keep you posted.
On Saturday night, I went to a relatively fancy party of a girlfriend out in Maryland and of course got into trouble. It was crowded and lubricated with booze. I was wearing a killer miniskirt ensemble. Pretty soon I could see this guy had his radar lock on me. He glided over: Dark, wavy hair, broad shoulders, seasoned handsome face, well-dressed. Introduced himself as David. Oh, and the blonde next to him was his wife, Linda. (Weirdly, this is not the first time something like this has happened to me — some men are really into certain names).
As the party progresses, we keep "running into" each other — he wants to talk, and much more. I'm horny and a superb flirt. But he is, too and I'm attracted to him. Blonde Linda is giving me daggers.
About an hour into things, I went out into the garden to get some air — honestly, it was amazingly stuffy and hot with that many people crowded into the house. Outside, it was cool on my bare legs. I was in a little grotto daydreaming, when I feel hands on my shoulders. I turn around and David is giving me this tiny, knowing smile. I let him keep his hands there, and in a moment they're down on my arms, then cupping my breasts. I hear myself give an audible sigh and I can feel his cock hard against my ass. He gently rubs my nipples and nestles his face in my hair. "My God, you are beautiful," he says. Any woman who's forty wants to hear that. "I have the right name, too," I say.
The next thing I know his penis is inside me and he's fucking me and I'm fucking him back. He was very slick in his moves, very sure of what he wanted. I am bent forward, my skirt raised and panties slipped aside, my hands resting on a low wall as he takes me from behind. And there is some taking involved...he just pushed me forward, bent me over...I felt his fingers pulling my panties aside and then the head of his cock was sliding into me. It felt great, as did the forbiddenness of it. The talk and laughter from the house made it seem like we were fucking for an audience. He took me with long, hard strokes, but had a firm hold on my pelvis so I wasn't going anywhere. He didn't last that long, but neither did I. I let out a muffled moan as my orgasm shook me and he came immediately, moaning too. We just stood that way for several minutes. Then he slipped out, turned me around and kissed me passionately. Our first kiss.
I didn't see him until I was about to leave — happy and full of come. He and blonde Linda were outside arguing. I went quietly to my car.
I didn't expect to hear from David again. But I did...
I'll keep you posted.
Monday, April 13, 2009
The stranger
I see from the most recent poll that quite a few of you have a secret fantasy to be taken roughly by a stranger. I'll tell you a story I've never told before, and you can decide if it would really be for you. This is definitely not the Harlequin romance "rape" fantasy carried around by some women.
I was 20, naive and stupid, and I hadn't learned how to fight. In other words, I couldn't control a "rough taking" for my own purposes, as I have sometimes done later. It was a typical late spring Saturday night in college, bar-hopping with girlfriends, cockteasing, drinking. I vividly remember everything, right down to what I was wearing: a khaki miniskirt and tight olive-green top, braless. I had a boyfriend at the time, but had gone out with some female friends. We were in one of the bars near campus; it was late and we were flirting with some of the louts from town. They desperately wanted to fuck us, and quietly hated us because they thought we felt we were above them (and we were). Still, there was much laughing, touching, propositioning...my pal Heather was giving each man a kiss after she did a shot of Jager.
I broke off to go pee. The bar had two unisex bathrooms with locks on the doors. I waited for a girl to finish in one and went in, starting to close the door behind me.
I never got that far.
A man was right behind me and pushed me inside, locking the door behind us. I let out a shriek but it was drowned out by the band. He was only a little taller than me, but very muscular and stocky, with skin so black it shone. I barely had noticed him hovering on the edge of our little group out at the bar. He was very drunk and I smelled the beer and cigarettes on his breath as he shoved me against the wall and mashed his mouth against me, pushing a thick, long tongue between my teeth. I flailed my arms ineffectually as he pulled up my top and roughly sucked on my nipples.
I was pinned and knew I was in real trouble, and my mind wasn't really working. Was I being raped? The thought never really came into play. Everything was overwhelmed by this masculine force and the primal insistence on what he wanted. He pushed me hard against the wall as he grabbed at my legs, fondling me under my skirt, getting big fingers under my panties.
Then I was spun hard toward the sink, barely reaching out to grab on before I ended up on the floor. I stared at the dirty porcelain as I felt my panties being literally ripped off. Then the hem of my miniskirt was pushed up on my hips and I was forced forward. His strong legs spread me almost like a cop ready to perform a frisk -- but that wasn't what he was about. A voice in my head: "You're going to get fucked..." And then, over the music, he yelled the exact words, adding some choice misogynistic terms.
He stood close behind me. Then there was a sudden, searing pain in my pussy. I didn't even have time to feel his cock about to enter me. The air was knocked out of me and I felt my pussy walls straining to fit him. I wasn't even very wet at that moment -- and I was wet almost all the time back in those days. It took several strokes before the lubrication made it easier, but he was hung and fucked like a thug. Hard and fast and like I wasn't even there. I was bent forward, heaving out with every stroke, but his strong grip was on my hips and there was always another "in" stroke coming. Sometimes it went painfully up to my cervix. I was completely in his control. I felt like his cock was so thick it would split me, a feeling that only gradually eased as I got dripping wet and my pussy changed to accommodate such a big one. I looked down and saw his pants at his ankles, undulating on the floor to his movements inside me.
I hung onto the edges of the sink and looked up to see my face, grimacing with each pounding of his shaft. Behind me, he looked smug and angry as he fucked me standing up, his mouth half open, grinning when he saw me watching us. My little skirt was hiked high and the black of his hands were amazing in contrast to the peaches-and-cream paleness of my ass. I had a little orgasm in spite of myself, which just made him fuck me more roughly.
Just as the band finished the set the room was silent enough for me to hear him grunt loudly, and I felt several spurts of semen going deep into me. Thank God I was on the pill. He kept fucking me, slower now, for several minutes, and I think he even came again. By this time my forehead was down on my arm, my eyes closed. I didn't want to look.
He pulled out as roughly as he had entered. As he pulled up his pants, I got a look at his big cock, with little ridges and swirls of our white juices on it. Even deflating, it was the biggest one I had seen so far. Then he opened the door, showing me still proned out over the sink, my legs opened, cum starting to run down my leg. I could hear his buddies applauding and knew they were debating whether to come in and take turns. Somehow I got enough strength to slam the door and lock it. I sat on the toilet and watched his semen dribble out. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel. Angry? Guilty? I mostly felt numb, and very sore. Later, as I walked back to my dorm -- my ripped panties gone, he took them as a trophy -- he kept dribbling out of me, down my shaking legs.
I was raped then and now I'd cut his balls off with a combat knife. But I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to looking back on that encounter and feeling a little aroused by the memory. People are weird that way. And as some readers have told me, I do have a latent submissive side.
I was 20, naive and stupid, and I hadn't learned how to fight. In other words, I couldn't control a "rough taking" for my own purposes, as I have sometimes done later. It was a typical late spring Saturday night in college, bar-hopping with girlfriends, cockteasing, drinking. I vividly remember everything, right down to what I was wearing: a khaki miniskirt and tight olive-green top, braless. I had a boyfriend at the time, but had gone out with some female friends. We were in one of the bars near campus; it was late and we were flirting with some of the louts from town. They desperately wanted to fuck us, and quietly hated us because they thought we felt we were above them (and we were). Still, there was much laughing, touching, propositioning...my pal Heather was giving each man a kiss after she did a shot of Jager.
I broke off to go pee. The bar had two unisex bathrooms with locks on the doors. I waited for a girl to finish in one and went in, starting to close the door behind me.
I never got that far.
A man was right behind me and pushed me inside, locking the door behind us. I let out a shriek but it was drowned out by the band. He was only a little taller than me, but very muscular and stocky, with skin so black it shone. I barely had noticed him hovering on the edge of our little group out at the bar. He was very drunk and I smelled the beer and cigarettes on his breath as he shoved me against the wall and mashed his mouth against me, pushing a thick, long tongue between my teeth. I flailed my arms ineffectually as he pulled up my top and roughly sucked on my nipples.
I was pinned and knew I was in real trouble, and my mind wasn't really working. Was I being raped? The thought never really came into play. Everything was overwhelmed by this masculine force and the primal insistence on what he wanted. He pushed me hard against the wall as he grabbed at my legs, fondling me under my skirt, getting big fingers under my panties.
Then I was spun hard toward the sink, barely reaching out to grab on before I ended up on the floor. I stared at the dirty porcelain as I felt my panties being literally ripped off. Then the hem of my miniskirt was pushed up on my hips and I was forced forward. His strong legs spread me almost like a cop ready to perform a frisk -- but that wasn't what he was about. A voice in my head: "You're going to get fucked..." And then, over the music, he yelled the exact words, adding some choice misogynistic terms.
He stood close behind me. Then there was a sudden, searing pain in my pussy. I didn't even have time to feel his cock about to enter me. The air was knocked out of me and I felt my pussy walls straining to fit him. I wasn't even very wet at that moment -- and I was wet almost all the time back in those days. It took several strokes before the lubrication made it easier, but he was hung and fucked like a thug. Hard and fast and like I wasn't even there. I was bent forward, heaving out with every stroke, but his strong grip was on my hips and there was always another "in" stroke coming. Sometimes it went painfully up to my cervix. I was completely in his control. I felt like his cock was so thick it would split me, a feeling that only gradually eased as I got dripping wet and my pussy changed to accommodate such a big one. I looked down and saw his pants at his ankles, undulating on the floor to his movements inside me.
I hung onto the edges of the sink and looked up to see my face, grimacing with each pounding of his shaft. Behind me, he looked smug and angry as he fucked me standing up, his mouth half open, grinning when he saw me watching us. My little skirt was hiked high and the black of his hands were amazing in contrast to the peaches-and-cream paleness of my ass. I had a little orgasm in spite of myself, which just made him fuck me more roughly.
Just as the band finished the set the room was silent enough for me to hear him grunt loudly, and I felt several spurts of semen going deep into me. Thank God I was on the pill. He kept fucking me, slower now, for several minutes, and I think he even came again. By this time my forehead was down on my arm, my eyes closed. I didn't want to look.
He pulled out as roughly as he had entered. As he pulled up his pants, I got a look at his big cock, with little ridges and swirls of our white juices on it. Even deflating, it was the biggest one I had seen so far. Then he opened the door, showing me still proned out over the sink, my legs opened, cum starting to run down my leg. I could hear his buddies applauding and knew they were debating whether to come in and take turns. Somehow I got enough strength to slam the door and lock it. I sat on the toilet and watched his semen dribble out. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel. Angry? Guilty? I mostly felt numb, and very sore. Later, as I walked back to my dorm -- my ripped panties gone, he took them as a trophy -- he kept dribbling out of me, down my shaking legs.
I was raped then and now I'd cut his balls off with a combat knife. But I'd be a liar if I didn't admit to looking back on that encounter and feeling a little aroused by the memory. People are weird that way. And as some readers have told me, I do have a latent submissive side.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Ode to a little black dress
My luckiest piece of clothing was my little black dress.
It clung in all the right places, my silhouette,
Flowed out to show off my legs.
Men always loved them, especially in this dress.
I was twenty-eight when I bought it.
I've owned others. But this was the
One.
I've had other lucky clothing. My khaki miniskirt
In college, my power suits with skirts just above
The knee, my muscle T-shirt, worn braless
On Saturday mornings to get a mocha at Uptown Espresso.
But I loved this little black dress above all.
When I was twenty-eight and powerful, such a powerful
Age for a woman, my body still taut and youthful
But my mind wiser.
This little black dress got me lovers
And got me into trouble.
It ended up on the floor at the foot of his bed.
It bunched up against a wall as he fucked me
Standing.
I was reminded of this the other night,
As I walked in the misty black air along the Seine.
I was alone, wearing garters and black stockings
Under a longer dress. But no fun for Linda.
I have duties, responsibilities, minders, a firearm.
Your national security. My sexual insecurity.
Still,
I wanted to feel sexy as I walked, then I heard her.
A cascade of moans and cries and oaths
In a French soprano voice. She never stopped.
I saw them under the ancient bridge. He had her,
Up against the wall. She in a little black dress,
His pants were down, his hip muscles tensed
As he fucked her with madness.
Impaled.
I had been there, mon cheri. Louder than you.
I could see her pale face, red hair,
black dress. Him, his skin was coal black,
Glistening as he took his fair maiden.
She looked at me and we exchanged souls
For a moment. She looked twenty-eight. I told
Her of the lifetime of fucking she had ahead.
Each one wonderfully different, each heartbreak
Worth it.
My black dress would get scuffed and sperm-stained
With all my adventures, with my running from
One lover at eight to another at midnight.
They didn't know they were sharing my
Pussy.
Ah, but my little black dress knew.
They just wanted my legs wrapped around them,
My red hair thrown back and my screams
Validating their manliness. And they did.
They wanted the cute redhead in
The little black dress.
I killed at parties. Made wives went crazy.
Their husbands in a trance, Linda's
Legs.
So many lovers came magnetized to that dress,
And a girl-woman, twenty-eight.
We all got what we were after, right?
I stood there on the storied riverbank,
Paused, a little tingle behind my knees,
As I watched him fuck her.
So much of life flowing by.
It clung in all the right places, my silhouette,
Flowed out to show off my legs.
Men always loved them, especially in this dress.
I was twenty-eight when I bought it.
I've owned others. But this was the
One.
I've had other lucky clothing. My khaki miniskirt
In college, my power suits with skirts just above
The knee, my muscle T-shirt, worn braless
On Saturday mornings to get a mocha at Uptown Espresso.
But I loved this little black dress above all.
When I was twenty-eight and powerful, such a powerful
Age for a woman, my body still taut and youthful
But my mind wiser.
This little black dress got me lovers
And got me into trouble.
It ended up on the floor at the foot of his bed.
It bunched up against a wall as he fucked me
Standing.
I was reminded of this the other night,
As I walked in the misty black air along the Seine.
I was alone, wearing garters and black stockings
Under a longer dress. But no fun for Linda.
I have duties, responsibilities, minders, a firearm.
Your national security. My sexual insecurity.
Still,
I wanted to feel sexy as I walked, then I heard her.
A cascade of moans and cries and oaths
In a French soprano voice. She never stopped.
I saw them under the ancient bridge. He had her,
Up against the wall. She in a little black dress,
His pants were down, his hip muscles tensed
As he fucked her with madness.
Impaled.
I had been there, mon cheri. Louder than you.
I could see her pale face, red hair,
black dress. Him, his skin was coal black,
Glistening as he took his fair maiden.
She looked at me and we exchanged souls
For a moment. She looked twenty-eight. I told
Her of the lifetime of fucking she had ahead.
Each one wonderfully different, each heartbreak
Worth it.
My black dress would get scuffed and sperm-stained
With all my adventures, with my running from
One lover at eight to another at midnight.
They didn't know they were sharing my
Pussy.
Ah, but my little black dress knew.
They just wanted my legs wrapped around them,
My red hair thrown back and my screams
Validating their manliness. And they did.
They wanted the cute redhead in
The little black dress.
I killed at parties. Made wives went crazy.
Their husbands in a trance, Linda's
Legs.
So many lovers came magnetized to that dress,
And a girl-woman, twenty-eight.
We all got what we were after, right?
I stood there on the storied riverbank,
Paused, a little tingle behind my knees,
As I watched him fuck her.
So much of life flowing by.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Open thread: The things we've done under the influence
What I've done while tipsy. Well, I got into a submissive fling with a much younger man (read about it here, here, and here). I had my first sexual experience with a girl. I fucked my bother-in-law. Drunken little slut.
As Dorothy Parker said, "I love a dry martini, two at the most. Three, I'm under the table. Four, I'm under the host."
When I was 20 and still fairly inexperienced, I had a doozy boozy experience. For years, I had noticed how my dad's buddies had their eyes on me. For a long time, I thought it was because I was ugly or funny looking. Hey, I was naive. Anyway, by 20 I was savvy enough to know what it meant. Once I accompanied my father to a dinner/springtime party for the large company where he worked. I wore a little black dress and was already looking for trouble.
As soon as we got there, I ran into my dad's golfing buddy Chuck. He had long "appreciated" me. Buff and tan, he was a surgeon and private pilot, very cocky, very married. He steered me over to the bar and bought me my first martini. Back then, like any college kid, I liked beer or sweet drinks. But I wanted to appear sophisticated. We stood against the wall and talked. Soon Mrs. Chuck -- Diane -- drifted over and joined the conversation, staring daggers at me. She was a pretty blonde -- but an young attractive woman is a destabilizing threat to any wife with half a brain. We talked, time passed and all of us went to circulate elsewhere.
Half an hour later, Chuck found me on the terrace of the country club, bored out of my skull by these old fogies. He brought another martini, and I drank it. He was very attractive, and I felt the innate competitiveness now with Diane, and I drank way too fast as he asked me about college and whatever... Pretty soon, I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I came out, there was the buff surgeon, standing in the hall. He took me by the arm and led me into an unoccupied ballroom.
We came together like matter in some physics experiment -- and, wow, being kissed by an older, experienced man was so much better than making out with some college guy. He just ravished me with kisses on my mouth, neck... I was ravenously horny as he put me on a table, hiked up my legs and pulled down my panties. He went down on me and I thought I would come right then -- but he was good; he just kept me hovering on the edge of orgasm. I kept ineffectually reaching for his pants, and soon he complied. Dropping them and his boxers, as he slid his cock inside my dripping pussy. I gasped from the moment he entered, and he fucked me with sure, rhythmic strokes. It didn't take long before I exploded, screaming...I couldn't help it.
He was still standing, fucking me on the table. "God, you're so tight," he gasped. He fucked me expertly, through a couple more orgasms, but I could tell he was about to come, too. "Are you on the pill?" he breathed. "Unh-huh," I managed to get out, and he came inside me, shuddering, moaning...hell, he was going to come inside me whether I was on the pill or not, he was so far gone. I felt his come shoot in me, and he held me close for a long time, stroking my hair, telling me how beautiful I was.
We put ourselves back together -- having left a massive come stain on the table cloth. About fifteen minutes later, I was back with dad, but still watching Chuck across the room. He was talking to this or that bigwig, smiling like a man who had just fucked the sweet young thing he had lusted after for years. Then Diane came up, smiled sweetly and pulled on his tie, as if to pull him down to kiss him. A second after their faces met, she slapped him so hard I could hear it across the noisy room. She had smelled my sweet pussy odor on Chuck's face.
By that point, I was drinking Diet Coke.
As Dorothy Parker said, "I love a dry martini, two at the most. Three, I'm under the table. Four, I'm under the host."
When I was 20 and still fairly inexperienced, I had a doozy boozy experience. For years, I had noticed how my dad's buddies had their eyes on me. For a long time, I thought it was because I was ugly or funny looking. Hey, I was naive. Anyway, by 20 I was savvy enough to know what it meant. Once I accompanied my father to a dinner/springtime party for the large company where he worked. I wore a little black dress and was already looking for trouble.
As soon as we got there, I ran into my dad's golfing buddy Chuck. He had long "appreciated" me. Buff and tan, he was a surgeon and private pilot, very cocky, very married. He steered me over to the bar and bought me my first martini. Back then, like any college kid, I liked beer or sweet drinks. But I wanted to appear sophisticated. We stood against the wall and talked. Soon Mrs. Chuck -- Diane -- drifted over and joined the conversation, staring daggers at me. She was a pretty blonde -- but an young attractive woman is a destabilizing threat to any wife with half a brain. We talked, time passed and all of us went to circulate elsewhere.
Half an hour later, Chuck found me on the terrace of the country club, bored out of my skull by these old fogies. He brought another martini, and I drank it. He was very attractive, and I felt the innate competitiveness now with Diane, and I drank way too fast as he asked me about college and whatever... Pretty soon, I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I came out, there was the buff surgeon, standing in the hall. He took me by the arm and led me into an unoccupied ballroom.
We came together like matter in some physics experiment -- and, wow, being kissed by an older, experienced man was so much better than making out with some college guy. He just ravished me with kisses on my mouth, neck... I was ravenously horny as he put me on a table, hiked up my legs and pulled down my panties. He went down on me and I thought I would come right then -- but he was good; he just kept me hovering on the edge of orgasm. I kept ineffectually reaching for his pants, and soon he complied. Dropping them and his boxers, as he slid his cock inside my dripping pussy. I gasped from the moment he entered, and he fucked me with sure, rhythmic strokes. It didn't take long before I exploded, screaming...I couldn't help it.
He was still standing, fucking me on the table. "God, you're so tight," he gasped. He fucked me expertly, through a couple more orgasms, but I could tell he was about to come, too. "Are you on the pill?" he breathed. "Unh-huh," I managed to get out, and he came inside me, shuddering, moaning...hell, he was going to come inside me whether I was on the pill or not, he was so far gone. I felt his come shoot in me, and he held me close for a long time, stroking my hair, telling me how beautiful I was.
We put ourselves back together -- having left a massive come stain on the table cloth. About fifteen minutes later, I was back with dad, but still watching Chuck across the room. He was talking to this or that bigwig, smiling like a man who had just fucked the sweet young thing he had lusted after for years. Then Diane came up, smiled sweetly and pulled on his tie, as if to pull him down to kiss him. A second after their faces met, she slapped him so hard I could hear it across the noisy room. She had smelled my sweet pussy odor on Chuck's face.
By that point, I was drinking Diet Coke.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
My college fucking yearbook
You seem to like it when I tell the stories of my cocktease/cock-pleaser years in college. It got me thinking about my lovers then. Let's go in chronological order.
--Mike was my first and I was his first. It didn't hurt a bit and there was no blood. We would fuck for hours, in all kinds of positions. Great fun. But things quickly accelerated to pressure from my family to bring him home and put him on the husband track.
--Seth. My first and only frat party. I got wasted. He was flirtatious and cute -- I can still see his butt in my fantasies. I let him take me downstairs. He fucked me missionary and with my legs over his shoulders. I knew I was being "unfaithful" to Mike and, God help me, it was a turn-on. He came in me and pulled out. I was lying there feeling high and warm and...
--Glenn came along. He was my first black lover and my first big cock. I didn't even realize he was there until I felt the mattress sag and this guy was over me, and then this cock was forcing its way into my recently virginal pussy. It hurt at first and was uncomfortable for awhile. He didn't give a shit, and his whole being masterful and strong and athletic as hell were a guilty turn-on. Then it felt really good and I came hard and loud. I got out in time to avoid a gangbang.
--Pam was my first girl. It was sweet and soft and she made me love having my pussy licked. I gave as good as I got. We fooled around for a long time, even as we were seeing other guys.
--My infidelities finally broke up my relationship with Mike. Two days later I was sucking Jon's cock in the library. He was an intellectual and even at that age I found brains a huge turn-on. We remain fuck-buddies to this day.
--Steve was Boston blue-collar Irish, like the guys in "Mystic River." I met him on some do-gooder outreach we were required to undertake. He was very attractive and I started dressing more provocatively. The day I wore a short skirt without panties he took me outside in the cool night and fucked me against a wall. Yes, it was slumming, but he was good in the sack. A very well-hung man, and knew it. Unlike some, he also knew how to use that big cock. He loved to fuck me from behind, and I grew to love it. He wanted to fuck me in the ass but I wouldn't let him. Things fell apart one night when his wife found us fucking and started throwing things.
--David was the professor I seduced. He liked my legs and, he said, my mind. My first older man.
--I had a more stable relationship with Dave. He was a history major and I could tell he was a rising star. We stayed together through my junior year, and although I sucked off a couple of guys and slept with Pam occasionally, I was pretty faithful.
--Luc was my Paris fling the semester I studied overseas. He smoked a lot and even I ended up smoking Gauloises. One time he brought me off on a train going something like 170 miles per hour. We had a blanket over us and he fingered me to orgasm. He loved it that I tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to avoid being loud. Being fucked in Paris is everything you dream.
--Things got crazier when I was juggling Frank, Mike 2 and Craig. Some days I might be carrying around the semen from all three inside my pussy and my stomach. I had gotten better at keeping lovers at enough distance to keep from getting stuck and bored. Frank was rich from the LBO boom and had a sailboat in the harbor and an estranged wife (named Linda) down in New York. He also had the smallest cock I ever fucked, about 4 inches erect -- but it still had its charms. He liked having me on his arm, and taught me many worldly, sophisticated things. The gifts were quite lavish, so some might say this was my equivalent of my pal Mary Beth's coed hooker. But being young, sexy and female has benefits; life is unfair. When Frank found out I was "cheating" on him, he got mad and told Mike 2, a lawyer and buddy. Big drama. They all came back, though. Men ;-) And then it was time to go to graduate school.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The way she walked...
I've been out in the field this week, wearing jeans. Today I saw a beautiful woman walking downtown, wearing a tight short skirt, sheer black stockings and black boots.
I was appreciative -- she was very sexy and knew it. She walked with a sensual confidence. I could tell from the way she moved she would be good in bed. She would give a good blowjob, unlike some I mention in today's post on the Fellatrix.
And I was envious. I saw the men looking at her, saw the desire shining in their eyes. Me, I was in jeans, ballcap and leather jacket; no makeup. They just ignored me, looked right through me, which is the idea...but.
Maybe next week I can dress up again.
I was appreciative -- she was very sexy and knew it. She walked with a sensual confidence. I could tell from the way she moved she would be good in bed. She would give a good blowjob, unlike some I mention in today's post on the Fellatrix.
And I was envious. I saw the men looking at her, saw the desire shining in their eyes. Me, I was in jeans, ballcap and leather jacket; no makeup. They just ignored me, looked right through me, which is the idea...but.
Maybe next week I can dress up again.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
What's that running down my legs?
I've always loved the elemental things about sex: smells, tastes, bodily fluids. I'm reminded of this again now that I am getting sex regularly. I went to work today with my lover's semen dripping into my panties. A few minutes ago I felt a big glob fall out of my pussy and almost shuddered from the arousal.
It's a way of carrying around the experience and reliving it.
Things got interesting back in college when, on summer days, I would go without panties if I was feeling especially horny. More than once I noticed semen running down the inside of my leg. So did others. I smiled like the demure girl I am. Yes, I've put my finger "down there" to come back with a taste of our mingled juices.
I had a lover who took great pleasure in smelling me on his mustache hours after he had given me a good tongue-lashing. In the shower, he would tell me how he hated to wash me off of him. He would make an extravagant show of sniffing my panties after he stripped them off me. He loved to lick my asshole. Loved it.
I've carried around thick sticky cummy tastes in my mouth and that special feeling of sperm in my stomach, even sperm of more than one man. Every man smells and tastes special, and leaves a special "finish" in my mouth.
Ah, coming back home to an unmade bed and falling into it, smelling the sex in the sheets long after my lover has left. I have commandeered one of his dress shirts. I put it over my naked body and lie in those storied sheets, moaning at the ceiling, waiting for next time.
Monday, January 14, 2008
These boots are made for fucking
What are you wearing?
This morning I have on a knit blouse, wool skirt to the knees, and boots. Men seem to like this look. I write this as I sit in a boring meeting. I notice one of co-workers angled his chair so he can see my legs and boots.
My ex-husband had a major fetish for my feet, legs and anything I wore on them. Boots were a special favorite. He liked winter because it was more likely he would get fucked with me wearing my boots and nothing else. Or he would slowly strip off my suit, loving every part of me with his tongue...until we were fucking. I was always afraid of hurting him if I fucked him with shoes or boots on, but he liked it. "Dig those heels into my back, baby," he'd say, and his fucking rose in intensity as I pulled him into me with my legs and feet.
He was a masterful toe-sucker. I've been blessed with a few of those. Once I discovered this wonderful sexual side-dish, I knew there was a direct line between my feet and my clit, just like the ones between clit and nipples, clit and ears, clit and navel...
We would arrange dates around me dressing up to show off my legs and I would let him pick shoes for me. Later, he would lay me down on the bed and go to work on me. He'd kiss and lick the shoes, my ankles, the tops of my feet...then peel off each shoe and do my toes, as he worked north to ankles, calves, knees, thighs, insides of thighs. By this time I would be shaking.
Well, gotta take part in my meeting. I would hate to get the boot, so to speak.
This morning I have on a knit blouse, wool skirt to the knees, and boots. Men seem to like this look. I write this as I sit in a boring meeting. I notice one of co-workers angled his chair so he can see my legs and boots.
My ex-husband had a major fetish for my feet, legs and anything I wore on them. Boots were a special favorite. He liked winter because it was more likely he would get fucked with me wearing my boots and nothing else. Or he would slowly strip off my suit, loving every part of me with his tongue...until we were fucking. I was always afraid of hurting him if I fucked him with shoes or boots on, but he liked it. "Dig those heels into my back, baby," he'd say, and his fucking rose in intensity as I pulled him into me with my legs and feet.
He was a masterful toe-sucker. I've been blessed with a few of those. Once I discovered this wonderful sexual side-dish, I knew there was a direct line between my feet and my clit, just like the ones between clit and nipples, clit and ears, clit and navel...
We would arrange dates around me dressing up to show off my legs and I would let him pick shoes for me. Later, he would lay me down on the bed and go to work on me. He'd kiss and lick the shoes, my ankles, the tops of my feet...then peel off each shoe and do my toes, as he worked north to ankles, calves, knees, thighs, insides of thighs. By this time I would be shaking.
Well, gotta take part in my meeting. I would hate to get the boot, so to speak.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Confessions of a teenage cocktease
I was a teenage cocktease. Don't hate me.
Early on, I discovered that men liked to look at me. Fortunately, when I was in high school miniskirts made a comeback, so I didn't have to wear those dreary calf-length skirts from the early 1980s. I like my breasts but they would never satisfy the monomaniac tit-man. But my legs...ahhhh...men love my legs. So I started dressing provocatively, although not, as my Mom said, like a slut. I also learned to flirt early and well.
I loved the attention. It didn't hurt that I was a cheerleader. So on game days, I would wear my outfit to class. The boys would literally twitch. I had a lot of dates, although they never went past heavy petting. Lots of my friends were hooking up and on the pill. But I was afraid and still pretty hung up from my upbringing. I also didn't want to end up pregnant and never get to college.
Older men noticed me. My father's friends paid me inordinate attention, listening to my callow opinions about politics and art and whatever. I realized the sexual flux, even if I didn't quite understand it. I wasn't above using it to get a favor. As I say, don't hate me. I left a lot of balls blue. One night my father took me out to dinner to celebrate my acceptance at a good college. I dressed to the nines in a little black dress, and he looked quite good in a suit. I realized the other diners thought I was his young mistress. What a trip.
I had an incomplete understanding of the connection of my actions and getting fucked, especially when I was in my teens. I got the link between male attention and the wet, warm achey feeling between my legs, the way my nipples would stand at attention. It was fun at a dance to feel the hard cocks pressing against me through the boys' trousers. Oh, making out, when a boy would stroke my inner thigh, I had a hard time putting his hand back to my knee. Later, alone in my bed, I would masturbate like crazy, feeling guilty all the time. I was also incredibly naive.
Once I caused a wreck. True story. I was walking downtown in a miniskirt, and saw this guy driving by oogling me. Then...bam! He smashed into the back of the car ahead of him. "Caution, professional cocktease, closed course!"
I grew up, lost my virginity and then some. I became a clothes horse and moved in sophisticated circles. But I still like to dress classy-sexy. I can still draw eyes at parties and make insecure wives flush with anger. And sometimes I remember times like the summer nights in college when I went without panties in a short skirt and shimmied up on a bar stool to let the men buy me drinks.
Sometimes it evens out. I don't look like I did even 10 years ago. Meanwhile, I know men who couldn't get a date when they were 20 but are now overflowing with desperate and desirable women.
Friday, January 4, 2008
The night I was initiated on Frat Row
I recently read a piece in the New York Times about a woman who lost her virginity at a fraternity "ledge party." This party school tradition involves having sex with a woman where others, such as frat brothers, can watch from the window ledge. She was traumatized, especially by the shunning reaction of her sorority sisters.
I shunned the frat scene in college. I was a stuck-up precious-little-thing National Merit Scholar, who would never deign to slum along fraternity row, much less hang out with women in sororities. But one night I found myself at a party, at a frat house, and it produced one of my most memorable adventures.
There was dancing and pot and booze and ecstasy, and I probably did all of them, before ending up dancing without music with this very handsome boy from LA. He was the classic tall, dark and handsome (TDH). I was only a few months from losing my virginity and had a steady boyfriend. I was also imbued with all my family's hangups about sex, so the assumption was that I would marry boyfriend. My body was buying none of this.
Just being close to TDH made me drenching wet and I was sure the whole room could smell my pussy. As we danced and rubbed against each other, he kept running his hands up my thighs, going under the micro-mini I had worn to the party. My head was spinning.
Next thing I knew he was fucking me. I was vaguely aware he had taken me downstairs in the frat house, to a basement where there was a mattress. There were no preliminaries; not that I was complaining. I remember being on my back, watching my panties come off as if in an out-of-body experience, a bulbous red cock head. As he pushed into me, I gasped...I was now definitely back in my own body. He fucked me hard as I moaned and whimpered and called his name. It felt very naughty and rebellious to be calling a name other than my steady's. TDH's cock felt different, thicker, and he fucked with a disinterested abandon that was very unlike my steady's gentleness. He raised my legs up over his shoulders and fucked me more. It felt amazing, this new wonderful position.
He grunted and pulled out, and I could feel his semen tricking out of my pussy and down my ass. Without even a kiss goodbye, TDH disappeared. I lay there panting, high out of my mind, my legs still wide open. Then I felt the mattress sag and looked up to see a new face. He was black, with a broad, muscular chest and dreadlocks. Somehow I knew him.
The next thing I knew I screamed in pain. I really felt like I was being split open. He didn't notice but started fucking me with long, deep strokes. My pussy adapted, the first time I was surprised by the amazing shape-changing ability of this wonderful body part, and this huge cock started to feel good. Then it started to feel really good! I raised my knees and rested my ankles on his back as he fucked me. I came and lost time and he was gone.
About this time, I realized I'd better get the hell out of there. So I pulled down my come-soiled miniskirt, put on my shoes and stood up, just in time for a huge glob of two men's mingled semen to flow out of my pussy down my legs. The basement smelled like semen. Even on the wobbly walk back to my dorm, come kept running down my legs.
I later learned a few fun facts. Boys had been watching me get fucked from the stairway; more were ready to gang-bang Linda Sue had I not beat a hasty exit, and the black guy was a star football player. Oh, and they filmed it with a cam corder. It's probably out there on the Web (I'm the innocent teen redhead with her legs wrapped around the frat boys).
I should have slunk away in shame. (And, yes, let me add the obvious that real date rape is horrible; but I was there of my own choice and knew, kind of, what I was getting into). Instead, I felt very horny and very liberated. There was no way I was going to marry steady and move to some boring-ass suburb. I knew I had begun my life in the sisterhood of sluts.
Monday, December 17, 2007
A safe-harbor fuck for the holidays
Seattle is at its most beautiful during the holidays. Downtown shimmers with lights and happy crowds move along the sidewalks. The temperature is just cool enough to dress for the season. Light showers leave the streets with a magical sheen. It's the best time of year to get laid.
My old friend Jon is an author and was in town for a weekend book signing. He's not to be confused with my ex-husband of the same name. Hey, I knew a man who collected Lindas. I was one of about a dozen that man had bedded: Linda Sues, Linda Annes, Linda Maries, Linda Kays and a Linda Christine!
This Jon knows me so well, knows my body and appetites. We had a drink at his hotel and walked around the city for awhile, but we soon ended up in his room. He covered me with lingering kisses as he removed my top and bra, my skirt and stockings, my panties. I wanted to get down and worship his penis, but he was having none of that yet. "I need to taste that glorious pussy," he said, laying me out on the bed.
Jon is the best cunnilinguist I have ever encountered, women included. He's also very into my legs. So he began with my toes and worked his way up each leg, kissing, licking, sucking, gentle nibbles. His beard and mouth just brushed against my clit, and he lingered taking in my scent like a fine wine, before he dropped down to start on the other leg. I was already moaning and quivering, on the edge of orgasm.
I felt his tongue ever so lightly on my full labia, running around my lips, then gently tongue-fucking me, then licking my perineum. He knew how close I was, so he only gradually and very lightly started moving his tongue in circles around my clit. He played me on and on, but I soon had a violent orgasm.
By this time I had to have his cock inside me, so I pulled his shoulders and he knew what to do. I felt him slip inside me, gasped, and raised my knees, wrapping my legs around him just the way he loves it. He has this amazing way of riding me missionary style, so soon I was coming again, using my legs to pull him deeper inside me. I oscillated my pelvis, fucking him back, feeling his hot breath on my neck, his balls pounding against my cheeks. Then I heard him cry out and come inside me.
We held each other a long time in the darkened room, looking out at the city, shared a smoke and soon started again. It was the best Christmas present.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Real life intrudes...but I keep my sexy boots on
Real-life rarely turns out like erotic fiction. Recall my threesome with Mike and Josh. Male readers expected a "DP" scene. Didn't happen. Then my next threesome (oh, Mom would have a heart attack), involving my friend Kathleen and Mike...that would lead to endless fun and possibilities, right? And when Josh joined, we could also rope in his girlfriend. I've never been in an honest-to-god orgy.
And I won't be anytime soon.
My puritanical Mom visited the evil city for Thanksgiving, so my adventures ground to a halt...without even any grinding. Next time I talked to Mike and Kathleen, I could sense a new dynamic. She acted like a schoolgirl...she had been married for 20 years and has a lot of making up to do. Mike was different, too.
Mike came in my office Tuesday and shut the door. We sat on my little leather sofa as he told me that he wanted to be with Kathleen exclusively for now. I had been expecting this. He admitted that his aunt had taken his virginity when he was 15, and since then he had been attracted to older women.
I couldn't resist rubbing his crotch as he talked. "You're going to miss this," I said at one point, feeling him get very hard and his breath come quickly. I had dressed provocatively both Monday and today. Today I had on boots and a skirt and no panty hose (I was cold but it was worth it). I could tell he was very aroused.
At one point, I stood up and walked over to my desk, and he was soon behind me, caressing me, pinching my nipples. I told him no, it was over, and certainly not here. But he roughly pushed my head down on the desk and pulled up my skirt. I heard his zipper as his hand ripped open my panties and pulled aside my pussy lips. Even though I tried to prepare myself, I had the breath nearly knocked out when he impaled me from behind with his eight-inch cock. All the while I was telling him "No" and "Stop!" (But not too loudly
)
What followed was a delicious little forbidden goodbye fuck, him calling me a slut and a cunt and Sue, before emptying himself inside me. I probably burst a blood vessel not screaming when I came. Then he pulled out and I heard the door open and close, and he was gone, me still face-down on the desk, smiling.
Meanwhile, Josh called me and said the girl from the other night is his fiance, Lindsey, and she was very upset about the whole scene. He swore to her that he and I hadn't slept together, and told me we couldn't be together again. Are all young people so uptight?
So my adventure ends...for now. I feel ok about it.
And I won't be anytime soon.
My puritanical Mom visited the evil city for Thanksgiving, so my adventures ground to a halt...without even any grinding. Next time I talked to Mike and Kathleen, I could sense a new dynamic. She acted like a schoolgirl...she had been married for 20 years and has a lot of making up to do. Mike was different, too.
Mike came in my office Tuesday and shut the door. We sat on my little leather sofa as he told me that he wanted to be with Kathleen exclusively for now. I had been expecting this. He admitted that his aunt had taken his virginity when he was 15, and since then he had been attracted to older women.
I couldn't resist rubbing his crotch as he talked. "You're going to miss this," I said at one point, feeling him get very hard and his breath come quickly. I had dressed provocatively both Monday and today. Today I had on boots and a skirt and no panty hose (I was cold but it was worth it). I could tell he was very aroused.
At one point, I stood up and walked over to my desk, and he was soon behind me, caressing me, pinching my nipples. I told him no, it was over, and certainly not here. But he roughly pushed my head down on the desk and pulled up my skirt. I heard his zipper as his hand ripped open my panties and pulled aside my pussy lips. Even though I tried to prepare myself, I had the breath nearly knocked out when he impaled me from behind with his eight-inch cock. All the while I was telling him "No" and "Stop!" (But not too loudly
)What followed was a delicious little forbidden goodbye fuck, him calling me a slut and a cunt and Sue, before emptying himself inside me. I probably burst a blood vessel not screaming when I came. Then he pulled out and I heard the door open and close, and he was gone, me still face-down on the desk, smiling.
Meanwhile, Josh called me and said the girl from the other night is his fiance, Lindsey, and she was very upset about the whole scene. He swore to her that he and I hadn't slept together, and told me we couldn't be together again. Are all young people so uptight?
So my adventure ends...for now. I feel ok about it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)