Untitled musings, pt. 1

…then he stuck his two fingers up inside me, and played around, kind of silly and high school-ish, but sexy at the same time, touching some good spots in there, like he knew what he was doing.

I just wanted his cock inside me. It didn’t matter where, in my pussy, my mouth, my… ass…

I just wanted to feel it pulsating inside me, pushing its way insistently inside my body, taking me over and bending me to its will.

That’s the way I think of it — Its will. Not his.

He’d said being stoned made him want sex. He mentioned it in passing, just explaining to me why he was so hesitant to smoke weed when with a group of friends. I like weed, but it has very specific uses for me. It’s good for creative writing — alone. It’s good for playing music, also alone. Or with a band, improvising. It helps if everyone else is stoned. And it’s good for sex.

He grinned, blushed.

Hmmm… so if you was to get hard right now, it wouldn’t be because you found me sexy, or because I was down here on my knees getting ready to blow you, it would just be the weed, right?

You… want to blow me…

You damn right.

He chose my cunt.

Oh, God, I knew you would feel like that.

Like what?

Like… you just fit everything inside me, just perfect. Like we’re perfect mirrors of each other in reverse.

When later, he chose my ass, it felt much the same way.

I told him he was my first.

It’s good, baby, I said in response to his anxious watching face, looming above mine. He’d insisted we do it this way if it was my first; less painful, he said.

It did feel good, despite the discomfort of having my legs on my shoulders. He didn’t compare in size to my father’s friends, but I hadn’t been very big back then either; both organs had changed in size and length, but they somehow still fit much better, tighter, created more friction.

Later I found out that the tissues inside a woman’s vagina swell when she’s really aroused. That explains how his cock felt in my cooter, but in my booter…?

He’d been the first since I was a kid, so that was some kind of virginity prize, I think.

He filled every crevice there just right, too.

I think he took it back, erased things, made it mine again. It didn’t belong to my daddy’s drunk friends anymore, back in the islands. Is that possible?

I think this is all I ever want again. I’ve had a thousand, but this one was made for me.

Is that possible?

Those Brown Eyes

I wasn’t really sure what to do with the feelings this man’s glances were dredging up in my belly.

Beside me, my husband chatted away to the stranger, oblivious to my discomfiture.

And frankly, I’d not have been able to explain it to him if he had noticed. It wasn’t as though the man had touched me, was openly ogling me or chatting me up. In fact, he’d barely spoken to me, or even looked at me that often.

There wasn’t much about him to describe; not overly tall, longish curly hair, actual beard instead of the accepted ‘goatee’ chosen by men in our circles who sported facial hair. Trim body, yes, but not naturally chisled or gym-sculpted, like so many of these men. Maybe a bit too thin in some places, not overly broad in the shoulders while a bit slack on the waistline, certainly more so than my physically gifted husband, who at forty looked 23 and had a body that so far obeyed his every unspoken command.

With my son’s lips clasped to my breast, I moved a bit to turn away and avoid the stranger’s eyes. Because they were the problem, those eyes.

Deep chocolate brown flecked with gold, they dipped immediately inside me, checked my interior, slipped past the unconscious facade one puts up automatically at these events. What was he doing here? He didn’t seem to fit with this group, gathered at the impressive home of a wealthy heiress to a hamburger restaurant chain.

My husband had gone to college with The Princess, as she was known behind her back, and I saw clear evidence of a dalliance in the way she looked at him, and especially at me. Taking the baby from The Princess’s elderly mother and putting him to my breast had really been a strategy to throw in her face the fact that Grey was married to me, a younger woman who had given him a child, a woman whose breasts even after childbirth were much better than her own.

I knew that in these circles it was absolutely de rigueur to breastfeed in public, that no one would dare to even raise an eyebrow at such a certified natural and beautiful sight, mother and child, doing what the universe decreed. There was no need to seek a private spot, or even to apologize for the act. One just did it, and I did.

But I admitted to myself that it was just as much a shot across her bow as it was a natural response to Greyson’s nuzzling of me, which he almost always does whenever I pick him up, hungry or not. In fact, he hadn’t been begging to be rescued when I had scooped him from the Queen Mum’s arms and set him on my left, the best one, the one with “Eat this, you rich cow” written all over it.

I saw her face contract when she saw my son and I, clearly part of a complete set that included Grey; mama, baby and daddy. She flinched and quickly grabbed an hors d’oeuvre from the passing tray.

So I was feeing a bit triumphant when suddenly I was faced with this stranger and his deep chocolate eyes that probed deeply under my skin without his really doing anything beyond the pale.

Dressed in a casual outfit that mirrored the ones worn by all the wealthy men at the gathering, he somehow still looked out of place. What was it? The jeans a bit scruffier, perhaps? The shirt? Yes, the shirt. Like the others, this was a South American-styled open-necked white tunic, but I could tell — don’t ask me how — that his wasn’t a ludicrously expensive ‘interpretation’ of the original rendered by an international men’s designer, or even an ‘impression’ of the style by J. Crew or Land’s End; it was the real thing.

Leather sandals instead of loafers, but not the $300 Yves St. Laurent ones, or even the acceptable Birks that men in these circles sometimes affected. These were again made by some anonymous workaday artisan, in this case I was pretty sure I recognized the work of a modest West Bank merchant who made them this way so they would stay on the foot while camel riding.

At first, I entertained the idea that he wasn’t a guest at all, but a servant, one of the many circulating with a tray. Especially when he asked if anyone wanted a drink. Then seeing the child at my breast, he bowed slightly in apology and took a few glasses of dark beer from the passing tray for himself and my husband. “May I get you something more appropriate from the kitchen, something with no alcohol?” he asked.

“Truthfully, I’m dying for an absinthe.”

I could not believe the words had left my mouth. Around me, the crowd went silent, then Grey chuckled and they followed one by one, all except him. “Well, I’m not aware of any research that says wormwood is detrimental to a child,” he said softly, and I could not tell if there was disapproval or judgment in his voice. It didn’t sound like it.

“Does it even pass through breast milk?” Grey asked Ron Silversmith, a physician.

“I’m not a pediatrician, but my guess would be yes,” Ron smiled. “On the other hand, the whole business of fetal alcohol syndrome is way overplayed. Yes, you can mess up a child’s development if you are drinking like a fish, but a small amount could actually be beneficial, just as it is for adults.”

“Do fish drink a lot?” Grey asked, and the men and the Heiress laughed far more than warranted.

I moved away, taking longer steps than usual when breastfeeding, and Greyson’s teeth clamped down to keep his prize. I caught my breath loudly, and the man’s deep brown eyes caught mine in concern.

“Are you alright, Contessa?” he said softly, and I realized he must have been there for awhile to have known my name;we had not been introduced. Unlike the rest, he used my full name instead of dropping the first syllable.

“Yes, yes, I just… should go sit down,” I said lamely and headed for the door, which he held for me. I walked into the kitchen and headed for the closest guest room, intending to sit and feed Greyson in peace. Truth be told I had never been comfortable breastfeeding in public; among society’s beautiful people, everyone had been programmed to insist it was fine and nothing to gawk at, but it still seemed to make you the center of attention. I’d always been comfortable in the third world when I was traveling with the nonprofit, when a women would whip out her tit and suction a kid onto it without checking her stride. Was it because it was me doing it now, and not some anonymous peasant? I didn’t think so, but maybe.

But the bedroom was full, a gaggle of women chatting about idle-rich-housewife/trophy wife things, and it took me about 20 minutes to make the right noises and extract myself. The master bath and the spare were full too, so I headed down to the basement, a long set of steps that led two stories down to the subterranean apartment with wine cellar, built by the original owner, a titan who had conquered this city with his oil money.

It was quiet there, and I breathed a sigh. Greyson,who had become agitated and stopped eating when all the cooing women surrounded him, calmed and again attached himself to my left breast. Finally alone, I stopped by the fountain and switched him to my right, ever conscious of draining them both evenly. I left my top open while I examined his tiny teethmarks.

That was when I became slowly aware of a faint, vaguely familiar smell. Marijuana?

Yes. The wine cellar door a few feet away, a faint lazy plume of smoke rose from the hole that served as a door handle.

I put my finger into the hole to open it, just as someone inside did the the same, and for a second my fingers were touching warm, taut flesh, flesh which somehow raised instant gooseflesh on my arms. I knew without looking who it was.

I stepped back and he opened the door, apologizing, but I shook my head and put a finger to my lips.

He smiled sheepishly, a tiny ornate pipe in his hand. “Busted,” he mouthed.

We stood there for a moment, the baby’s sucking the only sound. I was unaware for a moment of my breasts both being open to his eyes, then suddenly I noticed his eyes wash over them, frankly looking and not trying to pretend. I flushed, and raised my elbow to cover, but he shook his head and took my elbow gently and lowered it.

We stood quietly another moment, assessing each other silently, and then I held out my hand for the pipe. He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. “Better than absinthe, I suppose,” he said softly.

I took a deep drag, and the sweet smoke rushed into me like a genie, releasing all the lovely feelings I remembered from college. I had always been easily, wonderfully stoned, the quickest reaction anyone had ever heard of. Fifteen years had been too long.

Eventually, I realized I was standing there, lost in reverie, holding my son to my breast. I turned, and the sudden rush of the weed caught me. This was clearly the good stuff.

Then I felt his hands on my shoulders from behind, steadying me. “Are you ok?” he whispered.

I nodded. “I’m awesome,” I said.

Suddenly the sensations overtook me again, the tug of Greyson on my right breast now transmuted into a distinctly sensual sensation, the weight of the stranger’s hands on my shoulders felt wonderfully loaded. Weed had always had a libidinous effect on me.

I took his hand and pulled it down to my left. After what seemed like an interminable wait, a burst of sensations exploded as he took my nipple and rubbed it with his smooth palm, then his callused fingertip, alternating.

“Wow,” I breathed. “Wowow.”

I leaned backwards into him and felt his aroused penis, felt it lengthening and stiffening against his jeans and against my butt, now angled to touch it, rub it.

He caught his breath and pressed back against me, hard, masterful, his arms now around me from behind, his left still sending me with his nipple manipulations, his right on my waist to balance me. The feeling of his hand there, so close to my cunt, sent the juices zooming madly in my belly. I wanted him. Now.

I reached down and pulled my long skirt up and bunched it under his wrist.

“Contessa…” he breathed softly in my ear. “Are you sure…?”

“Just fuck me,” I said crudely. “Don’t talk.”

He took a breath, then abruptly walked us over to the wine cellar, still joined as we were, and through the open door, pulling it closed behind us. The dark cool interior, lit by one small dim electric torch on the wall some 15 feet away, was just what my buzz — and my libido — needed. I prayed he would not turn on the overhead light, and he didn’t.

As Greyson suckled noisily on my right, the man’s hands affixed my dress in place, tied it quickly above my waist with a flick of his wrist, using the loosened shoulder straps to hold the skirt out of the way. Reaching behind me I yanked at his belt, and he chuckled, taking it loose the rest of the way and I heard and felt his jeans slide to the floor.

As his hands pulled my panties free, I reached behind and took his thick hard muscle in my shaking hand. Wow. Not so big it scared me, but poor Grey would have a hard act to follow. I put that thought quickly out of my mind. We’d been a boring-married-sex couple for too long, and I really, really needed this.

His fingers freed my panties and sent them down my thighs to hang up at my knees, and then touched my cunt. The sensation of him parting and slowly fingering his way inside like a penis was electric, and I moaned deep in my throat.

A moment later he touched my clitoris through the hood, rubbing it firmly exactly as I liked, and I was over. The orgasm rocked me, shaking my body against him violently as Greyson dug in his teeth and held on for dear life, and I drew my breath in a scream, his hand covering my mouth just in time.

He held me to him as I quivered and shuddered, coming, coming, coming some more, sobbing with the intensity of it, and then finally, sagging against him. Presently, he sat on the rim of the winepress, and pulled me down on his lap. His cock slipping gently between my still-shaking thighs and nestled there, not insistent but very, very present.

I felt his cock against the upper part of my labia, lying there in wait, and I knew we were not done.

After a silent ten minutes that seemed surreal, out of time, I felt the stir of my libido again, and rubbed myself slowly against him, prompting a responding thrust along my slick labia. I wanted him inside, but… not quite yet.

With my son still clamped to my breast I sank to the floor in front of him in the dimness and took his thick cock in my fingers, then quickly into my mouth. My God, was he hard. I knew I could probably make him come quickly, and the idea, coupled with the sweet-bitter taste of his seeping seed, sent my own juices rushing southward in a flood.

He rose slightly and began to press his cock into my mouth and throat deeper, deeper, and I felt the scrape of it on my palette begin to call my gag reflex. Maybe I couldn’t do this after all.

I made a sudden decision, rose to my feet and pulled him erect behind me, switching my son to the other side again.

As he followed, his cock bumped into my rounded cheeks and slid between, brushing across my anus. I froze.

It had been more than 20 years since I had tried it that way, long before Grey, and it had been the last time. Grey had made it clear early on that he did not want to ever do that, terming it ‘nasty’ and ‘gross’ and wondering aloud if there were actually any women who enjoyed such things, that it was ‘physically unlikely.’  I had never told him I’d done it. Truthfully, the idea had been sexier than the reality, and the idea hadn’t been mine. The boy, despite initiating it, had been too inexperienced and cautious, I decided later; too eager at first and then when I was warmed up and felt I was ready for him there, afraid to just take what he wanted, and it had fizzled.

But…

Somehow, just now, the weed was loading that innocent brush with a million erotic meanings and feelings, and suddenly I wanted this.

I pulled away for a second, reached surreptitiously between my legs and touched the copious juices that still lay there, dug in, produced more, and then swabbed my anus and crease, making myself greasy with them.

When I took his cock in my fingers again, I pulled the foreskin up and down a  few times, and felt him lubricate instantly. It was enough.

I pulled him by his cock, touched it to my crease and then pushed against him to indicate how I wanted it.

He caught his breath and held still a minute, feeling me shift and let him slide in slowly, along the deep crease between my voluptuous cheeks, and then there was no mistaking my intent and my desire.

To be sure, I bumped my anus against his glans. And held still, waiting.

“Jesus,” he said softly.

Then I felt his hands on my hips, firmly taking me in hand, imprisoning me, too late to change my mind, oh shit.

He thrust inside.

Ouch. I knew it would hurt a bit, and it did. But…

He stopped, at exactly the right time, and did not reverse and pull out. That would have been the end, I think. Instead, he held still, waited a bit for me to readjust myself, to manage to get my flesh to again obey my order to relax, and then he sank in, hard, pressing all the way deep inside me, pushing before him a ball of sexual fire.

I heard my breath, coming in gasps across the dry skin of my throat, dry from the weed and dry from my mouth being open so long, preparing to scream, hoping his hands would catch the sound as before.

Sure enough, his hand hovered by my chin, ready. But I didn’t scream. Not then.

What was I doing, I thought wildly as he reversed and then thrust in again, growing thicker and harder, taking what he wanted, faster, deeper, more assertive. I wouldn’t have an orgasm this way, so what was the point of all this pain and discomfort, humiliation?

But I’d already had my orgasm, I reasoned, and didn’t know if I had another in me. The feeling of sexual overload was fast approaching, and I couldn’t explain it, but I’d wanted this, wanted to feel myself violated, used roughly, taken.

He seemed to understand, ramming his swollen cock inside me ever harder, deeper, pushing way down into me, taking my breath from me with the shock, depth and hardness of that molten cock.

Greyson chose that moment to bite down again, and my drawn breath sounded in the sealed room like an explosion. I felt the man’s hand move from my hip, and suddenly, a hard pinch on my other nipple finally loosed my scream. He caught it with his hand, easily stopping the sound before it rose to a level that would escape the sealed cellar and alert the house.

My mouth now in his control too, he picked up the pace even more, riding me brutally, banging into my hips with his bones, pulling free and slamming in again to open me violently. It was wonderful and scary all at the same time.

Then I felt him lean low over me and just before it happened, I sensed something big was coming.

But when the bolt of lightening slammed into my groin, I could not have been less prepared. I screamed as the white-hot pain punctuated the perverse pleasure of having my ass so brutally taken. His hand caught the scream, then released my mouth expectantly.

“Oh, please,” I sobbed softly. “Do that again…?”

He did. The flat of his hand slapping across my groin, the impact penetrating through the layers of tissue to shock my clitoris and send me into orbit.

The orgasm took me over, rolled me into it and lifted me from my feet. I felt the teeth of my child on my breast again, but it felt heavenly, an aftershock, a pinprick that locked into the whole pain/pleasure nexus and thrust me inside myself, deep and dark inside my core. I closed my eyes.

It lasted so long, of such intensity, that I had no sense of how much time had passed when it cleared and I could see again.

I opened my eyes and awareness slowly returned. The first thing I saw was my son, who sat on the floor in front of me, playing with a plastic wine-bottle pump, examining it as it were the most fascinating object in the universe.

Still bent at the waist slightly, my skirt rucked up and held in place by the tied shoulder straps, I looked down and saw his hands on my hips, and slowly noted his penis was still buried in my dark spot. I moaned softly, and he moved gently in and out slightly, setting off mini-explosions of feeling in my tender flesh. I sighed, and felt the tide begin to rise again.

Then from a distance off, a noise, the sound of a door opening, and footfalls. Someone coming down the steps. Quickly he withdrew, pulled his jeans up, and moved past me, pulling my skirt free to drop across my shaking thighs, and then moving deeper into the cellar. He motioned for me to go, and gestured to my son, then he was out of sight in the shadows.

I scooped up my son,  stopped to pull up my panties, and moved on shaky legs through the door, closed it softly behind me and sat on the fountain’s edge, gasping as my bottom registered the hard marble touching me where hard flesh had so recently been, and arranged myself and my son into an ageless ‘mother and child’ tableau.

“Hi,” I said, looking up as my host rounded the corner.

“Hey…” she said, looking confused.

“Just came down here to feed Greyson in private,” I said, feeling the hard marble against my tenderest spot. “Hope you don’t mind…?”

“N–no,” she said. “Sorry to disturb, I was just looking for Daniel. He seems to have disappeared again.”

“Who…?” I blinked. “Oh, the guy with the…? Nope, haven’t seen him. I just wanted to feed my son without being gawked at.”

She looked at me strangely, then sat beside me. “I think he’s done,” she said. “He’s asleep.”

I looked down, and sure enough, Greyson’s eyes were tightly closed, his mouth slack on my nipple.

“So is this guy a colleague of yours, from your nonprofit days…or…?”

She looked at me even more strangely. “No, ‘Tessa,” she said, shooting for casual, her voice betraying her. “That’s Grey’s roomie from his first year in college. I assumed you’d met.”

It took a minute to sink in. “That’s the guy who…?”

“…took the virginity of almost everyone in the group, yes, including me… and your husband,” she smiled triumphantly, finally feeling that she had the upper hand with me, maybe for the first time.

Strangely, I didn’t mind knowing. But it was an odd thing to know you’d just given up your virtue to the same person who took your husband’s. I hoped he’d enjoyed it as much in his tight little bum as I had in mine.

I think that may well be one marital conversation we’ll never have.

But… you never know when a marriage will need some spicing up, do you?

Our Jeffrey, or Too Good

Nicole came into my office Thursday morning, moving stiffly, tired but smiling.

She sat gingerly, grimacing as her butt made contact with the chair. I raised my eyebrows.

“Mmmmm…Jeffrey was over last night,” she explained.

I nearly choked on my coffee. “Our Jeffrey?” I gestured toward the hallway; his office was just down the corridor.

She nodded.

“…and you…?”

“…had anal. Yes.” She blushed. “Up ‘til the wee hours. That man’s sex drive is pretty impressive.”

In a discussion about Sex and the City a few weeks ago, a bunch of us girls had talked about it, but no one was willing to admit to having ever done it. Nicole hadn’t said much, I recalled.

“Wow. Never done it. Is it…hot?”

“It’s… interesting. Hurts, especially at first. But… he wanted it pretty bad. Said I had a great badonkadonk, and he wanted a piece of it. I think it’s funny when white boys use words like that.” She grinned, then grimaced again. “I like it when he’s excited. He just gets me hot with the way he touches me, so forceful, so demanding. Like there’s no way I am going to refuse him anything… and I never do.”

I was starting to think maybe it hadn’t been her first time.

“Do you enjoy being … fucked in the ass, though?”

“Oh, yeah. It feels naughty and dirty and he’s hard as a rock… When he’s on top of me or behind me thrusting, taking what he wants without asking, it’s… too good. A real turn-on.”

I squirmed. “Oh yeah? Tell me. How does it turn you on?”

“Well, it’s not all physical. I want to be wanted, and to be dominated is hot, although I never knew I wanted it until he just fuckin’ did it to me.”

“How… else does he dominate you?”

I slid back in my chair and felt the silk of my pants rub across the folds in the leather, nudging me pleasantly. On a whim, I hadn’t worn panties this morning. But as I got up and moved to the front of my desk to sit on the corner and lean closer so she could speak more quietly, I had the thought that maybe I should have. There was a wet spot on the silk.

“He … makes me kneel and beg for his cock in my mouth. I don’t really like it when he starts moving, like he’s fucking my mouth, going deep in my throat, grabbing my head. I get off on swallowing his come, because it’s hot to be told what to do, to be ordered, like I have no choice. Sometimes I actually get myself off just by thinking about that.”

I noted her nipples, pressing her top like marbles. I wasn’t sure if they had been that way when she came in, but I didn’t think so. Was she getting hot talking about this? I wondered. It seemed I was.

She was exciting me and repelling me at the same time.

I’d had no idea she was even interested in him. He didn’t seem like her type, the pretty white boy, sweet but slightly spacey, like he was stoned a lot.

Her legs shifted and I caught a quick whiff of sex. I felt myself suddenly get even wetter, slicker, and I knew the chances of getting behind the desk unnoticed were few.

I leaned forward to cover the growing spot on my slacks, and surreptitiously sniffed the air. She rose a bit just then so my face was uncomfortably near her crotch, and then I was inhaling deeply, the rich vapors filling my nose and head.

Her eyes widened. “What the fu…? Girl, you need to explain yourself.”

Before I could stop myself, I slid my hand up her solid thigh and under her dress. My fingers touched wiry hair, poking around her panties.

Her breasts heaved and she panted. “Girl, you need…” she began again, and then choked off with a strangled sound when my warm fingers pulled aside the silk and pressed through the thicket into her slick, steamy cunt. Then my thumb found her clitty. “Oh, God…” She lifted her hips off the chair and shoved her groin at me, and I found myself sinking to my knees, my tongue following my hands.

My lips met her halfway and I sucked her clit into my mouth. “Oh, fuck,” she said softly and began to ride my chin as my fingers slid up into her. The deep musky smell of ripe pussy — recently fucked? — overpowered me.

“Did he…” I asked breathlessly, “put his dick in here, too?”

She grabbed my head and pulled it back down. “Of course. I need that more than the other… and he didn’t give me near enough. So you’re gonna have to finish what you start. Hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

I didn’t. I’d never even seen another woman’s sex up close before, outside of porns. But I could taste him there, or I imagined I could. Her cunt tasted mainly like salt, oily, almost fishy, redolent of rain-dampened wool left to dry improperly in a closet. But the idea of eating her after his cock had been in there was as hot as anything I could imagine, and I gobbled her madly, licking her like a large gamy fruit, a mango, maybe, whose juices ran down my chin as I chewed… Soon, she went over the top with a cry, braced rigid against the chair, and my face filled with the oily, frothy thrusting prickliness of her orgasm.

She relaxed. “Good Lord, Sarena. I never knew you even had dyke tendencies. Warn a girl, why don’t you?” She gasped.

“I didn’t… don’t … really…” I said, also out of breath. “I don’t know… I just got hot at the thought of licking you after he…”

She grinned. “I guess. Well,” she lit a cigarette and exhaled a white cloud.

I wanted one too, but knew better. They always smelled better than they tasted. Pussy wasn’t like that. Its taste was all smell and feel.

“Did you taste him in my pussy?”

“I… smelled him on you. Not sure about the taste, but I think so. Kinda.”

She stared a minute. “So you know how he tastes.”  She rose. “You fucking him too, huh?”

I sank back on my heels. She moved in, towered over me, her thick black thighs thrust forward near my face. “He puts his thick dick in that little hairless baby cunt of yours?”

I nodded.

She looked angry for a second. “Why that motherfucker…!” Then she shook her head and laughed.

“So you wanted to taste his juice in my cooter, huh?”

I nodded.

“Like it?”

I nodded again.

“Well, you know… he never came in my cunt last night,” she said. “It’s a wonder you didn’t want to lick my ass.” She chuckled. “You want to rim my ass, too?”

I shook my head.

She suddenly grasped my face and pushed me backward to the floor, her mouth inches from mine, her body utterly dominating mine. “You sure?” she said huskily, and then thrust her tongue into my mouth. Her hands pawed my tiny breasts and her wiry pubic hair rubbed my groin through my clothes. I nodded.

She reached behind and yanked my pants down over my ass. “He fuck your little baby ass, too, girlfriend?” she said, her finger touching my left cheek and moving into the crease.

Nicole slips in and out of ‘street’ idiom at will; I think she does it to mess with us bourgeois white kids.

I shook my head again.

“No?” she said.

“No,” I answered softly. “He probably wants to. He looks at it a lot. But he’s never asked.”

“Huh,” she sniffed. “You want him to?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m sort of turned on by the idea, especially when you talked about it just now, but I don’t know if it would feel good in reality. He’s so big…”

“And you’re so tiny.” She pressed the flat of her thumb against my anus and I moaned involuntarily. I was both scared she’d push it in and afraid she might not.

She laughed and stood suddenly, pulling her thumb free, and then straddled me the other way, 69-style, her large hairy crotch a foot above my head, inverted. She lowered her head and licked my vagina experimentally. “I’ve never eaten pussy before,” her voice breathless and muffled. “Yours is pretty.” She thrust her hands under my ass, lifted me easily and stuck her hard tongue into me, rammed it deep, as if fucking me with it. It felt a lot like a small cock, until she flexed her tongue inside me, snaking it about, touching crevices that had never been stimulated. I moaned loudly and she began to lap me, sliding her broad tongue across it and then ramming it down inside me, twitching it about. I felt her hit my G spot effortlessly, then the A spot, and soon I was hers to do with what she wanted. She took me to the edge and toyed with me, held me there. I heard her say something against my groin, and then she lowered herself to my chin.

I licked, sucked, chinned her soaking and reeking snatch, but she wanted more. I thought I knew what.

I refused.

She stopped, and I felt the awesome delayed orgasm begin to recede. “Oh, no, Nicole, I’d love to, but I can’t,” I wheedled. “I’ll do anything but lick your ass…” I touched my right index finger to her anus and pushed hard, and she stiffened.

“Make a fist,” she said.

“What…?”

“Make a fist. Left hand.”

“O..k.” I balled up my hand.

“Show me.”

I held my fist down near my cunt so she could see it from her angle above me.

She grunted with approval. “A nice little baby fist. Make it hard and…fuck me with it,” she panted.

“In your…?”

“My pussy, silly girl.” She made a sound of irritation.

I put my fist against her inflamed slippery vulva, and pressed, the heat and the muscle taking over and squeezing, pulling me in to my forearm. She moaned and her body above me shook.

“Now… move it!” she ordered. She rocked her body to get the motion started and soon I was fucking her with my arm, my finger on the bud of her ass.

“Oh, Lord,” she said and began to lash my clit wildly, plunging her hard tongue into me, turning my insides to liquid, quickly heating. “It’s… too good.”

The orgasm washed over us both simultaneously, mine producing the kind of clenching spurting intensity that happened once in a blue moon, with him more often than anyone, usually after a healthy dose of some sort of hallucinogenic.

Hers led her to clamp her muscles round my forearm almost painfully as she came, spasm after spasm of forceful milking wetness bathing my arm inside her. I held still for a minute then decided to use my instincts, ramming deep inside her like I liked a cock to do when I was coming, and she clearly loved it. Then I decided to see if I could open my hand inside her, and almost had it when she froze and screamed. “Ohhhhhh…Dear Jesus. Ohhh, fuckety-fuckety-fucccckkkkkkk…”

I thrust my thumb into her ass, and she jerked, so I added my index finger for good measure before she finally begged for me to stop.

“You kinky little cracker bitch,” she said when she had caught her breath. “that was hot as hell. You made me come like a real whore. I owe you…” she stopped, and a naughty smile stole across  her face.

She dropped her head again, out of sight. I felt her hands on me again, under my thighs. lifting my butt off the floor, and her tongue slid down across my cunt again. She lowered her cunt to just above my face, effectively pinning me to the floor. Then her hard tongue made its way into my butt, pushing just inside and stopping. I froze, and she pulled out, then in again, slowly working my ass. It felt delicious and naughty, beyond anything I’d ever felt. Then a thick finger pushed slowly into my cunt, joined by another. “Oh, my fucking God,” I whispered. “Oh, Nicole. Make me come, you beautiful whore. Make me come. Make me come!”

“I’ll let you in a minute,” she said with a laugh, but it was too late.

When she stuck her tongue inside me again, over the edge I went, into a land where I’d never been before. I’d never had an orgasm that felt like this, this nasty and this good. It was like your first hit of Ex and your first orgasm, all wrapped up in one. It took so long to unwind that it felt like time was broken.

When I came back, Nicole was cradling me in her arms, nuzzling my neck.

“You’ll want it in your junior-sized ass now, little cracker,” she said gently. “I got you all ready for a cock in that cute little pooty-hole.”

Her hands kneaded my butt gently. “Ummm hmmm. I can see that big thick rod opening up your little bumhole wide. And you will fuckin’ love it,” she predicted confidently. “It’ll be too good.”

**

It was a few weeks later that I finally got the nerve to ask him. The prospect of that thick stout cock pressing into my tender ass, maybe tearing me open, scared me almost more than it excited me.

Almost. Some nights the thought of something big and determined, forcing its way into my vitals, crudely, almost angrily, made me come harder than I ever had, until I saw spots dancing in front of my eyes.

I knew I needed to try it, even if I might regret it.

I waited until one of the nights he’d smoked a big fat joint and was huge, hard and reefer-ready to fuck me.

That was in response to Nicole’s instructions. “You want it hard as it’s gonna get,” she said. “Might seem like the bigger it is, the worse it hurts, but bigger isn’t the worst thing. Half-soft hurts more. Pulls, tugs, burns.”

He was hard. Like steel. His cock gets so rigid when he smokes weed, it seems to get bigger. The  ganjaerection, he calls it.

His cockhead vibrated with lust, wanted me like a drug.

My butt quivered with fear…and curiosity.

“How would you feel about us doing some anal?” I asked casually.

His eyes, reddened though they were, brightened. He nodded his head, hard.

He wanted me over the bed, bent over. I felt him press his thumb against my anus, nudge inside slowly, and then rotate slowly, adding a finger. Inside me, things started to happen, a deep rumble of warmth, an almost uncomfortable fullness, actually right on the cusp of too much and just right. He held me there for awhile. suspended, and then he pressed in deeper… deeper…

Suddenly, a spot he touched switched it over into white-hot, clenching pain, and just as suddenly I was in the grip of an animal hunger, a need to be used, to be at someone’s mercy, their toy; my pain, their pleasure. When he held still, I rammed myself back on his hand, skewering myself on his hand.

It felt amazingly nasty, like something we knew better than to do, but did anyway. It burned inside me, and I moved off it, then missed it terribly as soon as it was gone.

He chuckled stonedly. “I guess you’re ready for the real thing.”

Another squirt of lube and he lined up behind me, hunkering down, pressing his cockhead gently between my cheeks, being the careful cocksman. I wanted this fast, before I could change my mind and chicken out. “Do it!” I panted and thrust back impatiently, wanting to feel him inside me, and damn the hurt.

Crave the hurt, actually. I pressed myself upon his cock, felt it shoving my anus open rudely, and pulled about a third of it up into me, when suddenly it widened considerably, wedging me open from within, and the pain was exquisite. “Oh, dear Lord,” I chirped, scared out of my wits at what I was doing to myself. Slightly off balance for a second, Jeffrey quickly recovered and, catching my urgency, seized my ass in his hands, shoved me forward until my forehead touched the bed, and took over, ramming the rest of that thick rounded missile into my virgin ass, banging it in to the hilt.

The pain-filled lightning that roared through my head like a freight train went straight to my clit and was transformed into energy, and my hands leaped to catch it, clasping my crotch and rubbing in a frenzy. I’d never been one to masturbate hard, but this called for a new rule, and harder was better. The orgasm welled, grew huge and yet held off, bolstered by the feeling of that thick piece of hot, metal-hard meat buried in my tiny, pale virgin ass.

And he was so not taking it easy on me. After the way I’d shoved my ass at him, who could blame him for assuming this was not my first time? He thrust hard inside, hammering me open and pounding me like the experienced anal fancier he had apparently take me for, burying his thick tool in me to the hilt again and again… and again… as I gasped and tried to form the words to stop him . No, oh, no, no, please…!

But I don’t think it would have worked even if I had. He was in the grip of a monster lust, a crazy, stoned automatic fucking machine that was barely aware of me as a person; I was just a place to slam his swollen cock, a receptacle for his boiling sperm.

When he came, I came with him, sobbing, begging, the words finally freed by the monstrous wave of pleasure that washed over me, hot and prickly, making me feel like I had a fever. “Ohbabyohbabyohbabyoh…fuck,” I sobbed the words. “Fuck the hell out of me, fuck me, fuck me more…”

He did. Oh, God, did he.

When I walked in the next morning, Nicole was the first person I saw. Watching me gingerly negotiate the door and sit carefully, she grinned knowingly.

“Too good, girl,” she said softly as she poured us both coffee. “Welcome to the club.”

The word seemed appropriate. It felt this morning like that’s what he’d rammed into me the night before, a club.

But I also knew that I was going to go back for more. She was right; it was too good.

The Storm, pt. 1

 Delayed for a month, winter descended  with a vengeance. I was at work, and not really aware of it, but the lights did flicker in the computer room as the main power died and the generator took over. I didn’t know how bad it was until I walked out to the car.

The wet snow had created some very high drifts before turning to rain. As it came down, it had begun to freeze, and the trees, wires, etc. were covered by a shining coat of icicles. The morning sun, just rising, shone thru making them almost pretty. I decided I could probably get home, but I was unprepared for the slipperiness of the roads once I got outside of town.

I was able to negotiate the main roads if I went slowly enough, but the back roads were another story. I crawled along until I approached the first hill, and could not seem to get a purchase. I backed up, and tried to get some speed, but to no avail. Rear-wheel drive just didn’t cut it. I knew  I had two more hills to go. I was just about to give up when a truck approached from the other direction, and stopped.

Two men got out and pushed my car up the hill. They advised me to park in the next driveway I saw, and I followed their advice, thinking they would offer to drive me home, since I was only a few miles away. But as I locked the car, and got out, I saw them get in the truck and drive away.

Son of a bitch.

Or two, actually. But wouldn’t that be “sons of a bitch” versus “son of a bitches”?

So I walked. The rain increased, and I began to get quite wet and cold. When the next vehicle came up from behind and stopped, I got in, shivering.

The driver, a pleasant-looking middle-aged black man, asked how far I was going. I told him and he said he’d drive me home, even though he lived right around the next corner. He handed me a paper towel, and I soaked it wiping my face. “Pretty wet to be out there today, huh?” he noted. I nodded, shivering. The truck’s heater blew warm air across my wet face. Great, I’ll smell like a dog.

As he rounded the next curve, we both saw the branches in the road. He stopped and we checked to see if we could move them. They covered an electric cable which also lay in the road. Regretfully, he turned around.

“I guess we should go back to my house to use the phone,” he said, “Your husband will be worried and I need to call my wife, and tell her not to leave work. It’s too dangerous.” That made sense, I could ask Tom to meet me at the tree. Maybe I could walk around it, miss the wire?

When we got to the house, the man picked up the phone to call his wife. It was dead. He decided to see if he could figure out where the line was broken. Then he noticed my shivering, and noted how wet I still was, and he suggested I go into the bathroom and dry off, while he was working. I did so, gratefully.

“Take a warm shower if you need to,” he called over his shoulder, “And throw your wet clothes in the dryer. It’s right in the bathroom. I may be awhile.” I did, and the water felt heavenly. I felt in no danger, since I’d locked the door, and I took my time. The bath had a pretty serious array of bath oils, and I got out of the shower for a second, leaving the water running, to try them out. I was sampling one of them, standing naked in front of the mirror rubbing it over myself when there was a short knock, then the other door, the one which I’d not noticed, the one which presumably led to a bedroom, opened, and a hand holding a dressing gown reached into the room.

“Here, you’ll need this….. while your…. clothes dry,” he trailed off, seeing me standing there in the nude, rubbing the oils into my thighs, as if masturbating.

We were both quite aware of the scent of my body, as we stood speechless and stared at each other for a very long moment.

I was humiliated, but sensed that he really hadn’t planned this; he’d thought that the shower running meant I’d be in it.  Still…he’d stripped off his wet clothes as well, and stood bare-chested in his gym shorts.

I noted a flush rising under his tanned skin, and a bulge rising in his shorts. Unable to look in his eyes, I looked down and saw his taut stomach, his large hands, and his cute, rounded tush.

As I finally met his gaze, he suddenly stepped forward, as if propelled by an involuntary force, and lifted me bodily, carrying me into the adjoining bedroom, pinning my arms to my sides. His breath came in ragged gasps, his excitement taking him over.

Incredibly, so was mine. I could hear my own harsh breathing, as he lowered me onto the bed on a pile of pillows, and parted my legs with his knee. He paused for a minute to pull off his shorts, freeing his impressive penis, which he took in his hand and guided it between my wet, greasy thighs. I watched in the dresser mirror over his shoulder as he entered me slowly and deliciously, stretching my pussy wide, filling me completely, his gentle movements a huge turn-on. It felt massively, excitingly big.

This was technically a rape, since I hadn’t consented to any of this, but I hadn’t protested or fought either. I didn’t scream, unable to believe it was real and not some bizarre daydream. I wasn’t sure if he would’ve gone any further if I had protested, but I thought he might’ve been just as unable to stop himself as I was. It just was not in my nature to resist too violently if someone was determined to have sex with me. It would not kill me, I thought. Unconsciously, I think I wanted to be ‘raped,’ if it could be relatively non-threatening. I know that my rape fantasies were some of my best, but I never intended to provoke a rape, knowing that the reality would probably be very different.

Anyway, he wasn’t asking.

His tanned buttocks contrasted starkly with my white legs, and from my position on that huge pile of pillows, I could occasionally see his long black penis as it pulled out of my pale thighs, only to be buried again. It was a very erotic sight, and I could feel my body responding, saw it rise up to meet him as I watched his dark hands grip my pale cheeks for leverage to drive that thing harder and harder into me. I felt my groin tingle as his crotch rubbed and ground my clitoris, and he groaned as my muscles responded by gripping him tighter. I could feel the hard thick head of his cock deep, deep within me, thrusting into areas which had not been stroked by a man before.

His chest hair scratched at my breasts, and my nipples hardened immediately. A moan in my throat, I dug my nails into his buttocks, pulling him into me, and thrust back. He grunted in surprise and rose up to thrust even deeper and I felt the unmistakeable stirring, a huge orgasm building as he stroked my inner depths and his crotch bumped deliciously into mine. I felt him start as my muscles clamped tightly around his cock, and it swelled huge, plunging deep into me and setting off an unbelievable burn. I listened to a voice groaning low, deep in the throes of passion, and realized it was me.  He thrust in one more time and froze, holding himself rigid, his cock in me to the hilt, and I wriggled under him to a fantastic explosion. He collapsed onto me, cock still buried in me and his sperm ebbed out, filling me, spreading over my thighs and onto the bed in a sticky mess.

I waited until we’d both gotten our breath back somewhat, and he rolled off, then I asked “So, what’s your name?”

He rose on his elbows to look into my face, and didn’t respond right away.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll just have to call you ‘Mr. Rapist’. I always wanted a zipless fuck.”

He grinned, embarrassed, but game. “Okay. I’m Terrence, and I’ll be your rapist this evening.”

Chapter Two

As the passion cooled, the steam we’d generated dissipated, leaving me feeling a bit limp. My companion seemed somewhat embarrassed by it all as well. We sat without speaking for awhile, his hand idly stroking my breast. Unable to break the silence, I looked into the mirror, as his dark hand, lowering to my thigh, was caught framed against my shockingly pale midsection. It had been a long time since I’d tanned.

In the mirror, his dark body glowed with a sheen of perspiration. I’d never seen a black person naked before. Somehow his penis, though flaccid, did not seem to shrink to insignificance when limp the way so many white ones did. Intrigued and eager for something to do, I cupped it in my palm. The stickiness of sperm and my own juices covered my hands, and I rose, going to bathroom to wash them. I saw him watching me in the mirror, his eyes lingering on my buttocks, and I tingled as I always did when men viewed me as an object.

After returning to bedroom with a wet washcloth, I gently rinsed the sperm from his pubic hair, and where it had puddled around his sac, his penis responding immediately to the warm water, stretching, hardening.

I took him gently into my mouth, wondering how in the world I would manage. This was a porn-movie cock, and I was sort of clueless about how to work it. He pressed in welcoming the feel of my mouth, but held back, and I was grateful. In my mouth it grew some more.

He stopped, took the cloth from my hand and gently swabbed my pubic mound before dipping into my vagina and removing all traces of him.

His large callused fingers lingered on my outer lips, gently probing in, and again I felt the unmistakeable signs of arousal. Softly, I took his penis again, and felt it become firm in my hand, as he pushed me back onto the bed, and I watched in the mirror as he lowered his head to my chest. I closed my eyes, feeling his tongue circle my areole softly, as his hand cupped my other other full breast, his palm brushing across the nipple slowly teasing it to erectness.

I fondled his stiffening penis, reaching under him to cup his testicles, and he caught his breath. Then I felt his hand cup my groin, and I spread my legs, preparing myself for his entry.

It did not come.

His fingers traced my lips, dipping into my vagina and probing, and his thumb found my clitoris. As he pressed and prodded, I felt myself responding quickly, my buttocks twitching and jerking. Suddenly I felt an orgasm building again, and then he stopped.

“Why….?” I gasped, opening my eyes.

In the doorway stood a muscular young black man, his eyes frozen on both of us. “Son,” Terrence said softly. “This is not what it looks like…”

Expressionless, the young man turned and walked away. “I believe it is exactly what it looks like,” he said over his shoulder.

Terrence jumped up and stared after him. “What…? What should I…?”

I had no response. How could I tell him his son was also my personal trainer?

French Vanilla Summer

You remember when you first saw him, your older sister’s boyfriend. He was leaning on his dirtbike in the school parking lot, his white-blond hair looking a lot like vanilla frosting in the sunlight.

Your sister was dark and rounded in that womanly Latina way, even more than you were. Her ass drew a lot of stares when she went down the hallway. “That be a woman’s ass,” the black guys used to say wistfully. “Ain’t no little girl there.”  They liked your ass, but they liked hers better; it was rounder, stuck out further in the back, not so far on the sides, like yours, and her waist was smaller.

You thought it was some funny bullshit; your sister Dez was scared of black guys, even though she was older than you, and the black guys were your friends.

But Glen was opposite of black. His arms were tanned like a perfectly grilled hot dog and his hair was bleached, like French Vanilla ice cream.

That was the summer you first fell in love with food, and your body was just starting to show it a little. You had bigger boobs than most girls, including your older sister, and a pretty big butt, but it wasn’t the same round shape as hers.

A few weeks later, you were almost asleep in your room watching some nonsense on TV alone. Dez was out with Glen at some movie, their first official date. You knew that, but your parents didn’t. She’d told them she was staying over a friend’s house for the night. She was sixteen, so she shouldn’t have to do this kind of thing, but your parents were sort of old world; at least your father was. Your parents were off having a late dinner; if Dez and Glen had known that, they’d have come here and watched TV instead.

All of a sudden, you heard the parents’ car roar into the drive, and screech to a stop. Your father’s voice came to you like a gust of hot wind, and the things he was saying were shocking even when you didn’t know what most of them meant. Castilian Spanish words, and not nice ones, from the sound of it.

Your parents never fought. He never drove fast. You went to the window and saw him drag Dez out of the car. Oh shit. She’d been caught.

Your mother grabbed her hand and hauled her into the house, muttering all the time. “Kissing an Anglo boy in public??? Your father could have killed you.” Your father was still cussing in Spanish, at the top of his lungs. The neighbors knew something was going on, but they couldn’t say for sure he was cussing anymore than you could, because they didn’t speak  Spanish at all.

Then you heard the sound of a dirt bike out back. No one else had heard it over the commotion. It shut off by the edge of the woods.

You decided to avert disaster by telling him to stay away, assuring him your sister was alright. You slipped out, even though you were in your nightie; just threw on some sweatpants and out the window.

He stood by the edge of the woods, pacing and smoking. When he saw you, he jumped and started forward. “How’s D?” he said in a loud whisper. “We were just at a movie, and…” His voice shook. “He better not hurt her, or I’ll…”

You put your finger across his lips. “My dad is just mad because she lied,” you said. “He’d never hurt her.” You hoped that was true.

“You sure? He seemed like he was pretty rough with her,” he said. “Yanked her arm, and pushed her…”

“I am sure,” you said. “He’s already calmed down.”

He blew out his breath in a big gust of relief. “Ok.” He finally smiled.

“I should go back,” you said. “You should push your bike for awhile so he won’t hear it.”

You turned.

“Hey,” he called. “Stay a minute while I finish my smoke.” He sat on a log and you joined him.

He held out the butt to you. “I don’t smoke,” you said. “Dad would kill me.”

He smiled, and pulled a twig from your hair, flipped it back from your face. “You’re kind of cute,” he said. “How old are you? Have a boyfriend yet?”

You couldn’t help it. He was so close, and he’d said you were cute. You kissed him. Suddenly his hands were on your hips, his lips on yours, his tongue raking your teeth and probing your mouth. He touched your nipples experimentally through your shirt, making you gasp, and when you didn’t stop him he slid his hands inside and cupped the left one, your favorite. His cool fingers felt delicious on your new breasts, sending messages to your brain that it had never considered before. Way down in your sweats, under that thatch of black Spanish hair, you felt yourself get warm and start to moisten.

Then you saw, or rather felt, the bump in his pants, as it brushed against you, and you reached out and touched it with shaky fingers, and then he made a noise in his throat and pressed it against your hip, and one hand traveled down and inside your panties, touching the wet. It felt good when his finger slid inside you, and you sighed. Then he stood and took his jeans open and his penis out and somehow was in your face, and he was begging you please, Mariella, please just suck it a little bit, and you did it because he was so adorably cute, and it tasted funny but not bad. Then he started to move and he was going too deep in your throat and you were trying to keep up but you choked and he stopped.

Then he was urging you over to this fallen tree where he bent you over and pulled your sweatpants down and pressed his hard slick thing against you, sliding between your legs, smearing you with its juices. You felt it start to slip inside you, but it wasn’t supposed to go there, was it? In your ass? You started to pull away, but he was almost sobbing please, please, please, you’re so sexy, I’ll do whatever you want and you figured he was older and he knew what he was doing.

You pushed back, and he pushed again, and his wet slippery thing went into your ass all the way. He sobbed “Oh yeah,baby, Oh yeah!” began to thrust and pull. It hurt some, but you knew it might. They said it always did the first time. But as he went on, pressing his dick into your ass, you began to get some pleasure from it, and you started to moan, and he asked, “Do you like my cock, baby?” and you said “Oh yeah, Oh Glen, oh God,” and he started to thrust harder, his… cock got even harder and longer, deeper in you. Now you were really getting excited, when he suddenly made a long groaning noise and slammed inside you real hard and went rigid against you. You felt his cock twitch deep inside you and shoot hot stuff into you and it felt gooooood… Then he stopped and sighed, pulled out and sheepishly buttoned up his pants, and you were disappointed.

The next time he came to see Dez, after your dad calmed down, he met the parents and he and Dez would sit and watch TV with your parents on the couch in the living room. They introduced you to him formally, and you were very shy with him and everybody thought it was because you’d never seen Dez with a boy before.

So that’s how it started. For the next few years, he would come to see Dez, and after the evening was done, he would leave by the road and then after he left, you’d wait until your parents were asleep or busy, and you’d slip out.

Your knees shook with the need to have him bend you over and stuff his hard little cock into your naughty spot, to feel his hipbones pounding your butt cheeks hard, hard enough to leave odd bruises for your mother to puzzle over, to feel his cock swell thicker and then pulse hard, held deep inside you, and squirt the white stuff that would dribble out of you over the next few hours and make a disgusting mess of your underwear later. You learned to wear extra cloth inside your panties after he fucked you, or use a panty shield, after that time that your mother came to you and tactfully asked if you had had diarrhea one night.

Then he came over to your house one day when no one was home, when he knew because Dez told him, that just you and she would be home without the parents. It was a Sunday morning and your parents had gone to church, but you were sick, and she’d asked him to come over because she was going to pretend she had caught your cold. But your mom was no fool, and she’d taken Dez along anyway, her sickness vanished in a cloud of sulking because mom didn’t believe her.

When you heard his bike, your insides got all fluttery and you pulled yourself out of bed to answer his knock on Dez’s window. When he saw you, he seemed surprised, but not disappointed, you were pleased to note. You explained and invited him in through the basement. You sat with him on the couch for awhile but when he started kissing you, which he’d never done much after that first time, you took his hand and took him back to the bedroom. You bent over the bed, and started to pull down your pajamas but he stopped you and got undressed, then undressed you, climbed into bed and pulled you in beside him. It felt strange to be fully naked in front of him and in bed, and you were nervous, awkward. He kissed you hard and you felt his cock stiff against your thigh.

Then he slipped three fingers inside your vagina and pushed deep. You gasped, because it hurt.

He took it as excitement, and began to push in harder, then abruptly pushed you onto your back and climbed on top of you. You protested, thinking it wouldn’t work this way, he couldn’t reach your ass from the front, but then his hard cock was pressing its way into your vagina and you were moaning in pain, almost sobbing. Then he was in and moving, and you tried to move with him so he didn’t go so deep. Soon, there was some pleasure mixed in with the cramps that came when he went in too deep.

He soon came again, and you wondered if you would get to come, too, sometime.

He heaved off you after he’d caught his breath and went into the bath to wash up. He came back looking puzzled, holding up the bloody cloth. “How can you be bleeding? Are you on your period?” You shook your head.

He frowned, puzzled, and you didn’t like being a disappointment, so you crawled across the bed and took his cock in your mouth. It smelled and tasted like your fingers after you played with yourself, but you didn’t care. Soon, he was hard in your mouth again and rocking back and forth with your movements. His cock was seeping, tasting oily on your tongue, and you feeling queasy from the lingering cold, but you sucked harder anyway, taking his balls in your hand and squeezing softly.

Then he made a funny sound in his throat, something like a cough mixed with a sneeze, and then he was pushing his cock deep in your throat, his hands tangled in your hair and squirting his hot sticky stuff into your throat. You swallowed quickly, like it was bad medicine.

“Boy,” he said breathlessly. “I wish your sister was as much fun as you.”

It made you feel good, and guilty, to hear him say that.

Well, she had the tiny waist. So you hoped it all worked out even.

You were there a few weeks later when he tried to fuck Dez and you tried to save them from getting caught, but you weren’t fast enough. When you heard your dad’s steps on the stairs, you thumped on the wall. but they didn’t hear. When your  dad burst through the bedroom door, Dez’s top was off, her skirt bunched up around her thighs.

It was the last time any of you ever saw the boy with the French Vanilla hair.

Fucking the past

“Motherfucker…!”

“Tom?” The woman said, rising from the water. Her voice was both excited and unbelieving. “My God, I…” She stopped.

I put my eyes back in my head, eventually, and responded, but she was gorgeous, I mean, for an older woman. “No, I’m Jason. I‘m… looking for Elizabeth.”

She looked confused for a second, then smiled slowly. “Of course you are, Jason. I’m Kathryn, Lizzie’s mom, from back east. Sorry if I blanked out there for a moment. You look a lot like…. a boy I used to know….when I was young.” She shook her head. “The resemblance is… uncanny.”

“Well, come inside and have a cold drink.” She turned and walked inside, holding the door for me. She caught me watching her legs, I’m pretty sure. I couldn’t help it; they’re pretty trim, and the white suit cover really set off her tan. Wow. I never knew Liz’s mom was that hot; I mean Liz said she was pretty, but I never knew she meant movie-star hot. She went to the fridge and handed me a beer without asking what I wanted.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just come around to the pool to wait when Liz isn’t home yet,” I said, taking the beer from her, although what I really wanted was a Pepsi. I didn’t know Lizzie’s dad drank, or her stepmom. They’d certainly never offered me one, probably because I’m underage.

“No problem,” she smiled. “I’m the one who doesn’t belong here; I just let myself in, thinking I‘d have a swim. I know where her dad still keeps the keys; he hasn’t changed that since we were married.”

I was having trouble seeing her ever having been married to Lizzie’s plain old schlumpy, pudgy dad. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your swim,” I said.

“Wanna come with?” she said softly. “Liz’ll be awhile. She just called…”

“Oh… well…I could leave and come back then…” I said. Just then my cell buzzed. Text from Liz. “Hang out an hour or so if you can, babe. Mom’s on her way and I don’t think she has a key.”

I showed her the message. She laughed. “Come on, J, let’s take a dip. You look kind of…like maybe you could maybe use a dip.”

“Well, yeah, I’m sweaty, I guess. I worked all day in the field, topping corn. Should I shower first…?”

“Nah,” she shrugged. “This is the midwest, not Hollywood.” She took a beer herself and led the way back out. As she walked through the arch, she slipped off the swimsuit cover and that orange-cream behind leapt out at me.

“Yeah,” she said, catching me looking at her ass. “It’s the same as Lizzie’s. I bought it for her.”

It looked good on Lizzie, but on her mom? Wowsers. I decided suddenly that maybe a swim wasn’t a good idea. “Ummm… Mrs…” I stopped, not remembering her name.

She laughed. “Call me Kath. Mrs. Nothing.”

“Kath… I shouldn’t swim. These aren’t exactly swim shorts. “ Gym sweats, cut off.

“It’s okay. They look kind of hot on you.” She took my hand and chugged her beer. “Ready for another?”

“I shouldn’t,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I’m not one of *those* moms,” she said, smiling.

No, she wasn’t.  I killed it. “Sure.”

She went in and came back in with the rest of the six, popped my cap, and drank some of hers, walked to the pool and stuck her toe in. “Wow. Nice. Nebraska weather.”

She set down her beer and did a quick sideways dive off the deck into the deep end.

God, she looked great doing it. I felt my shorts tighten, walked to the shallow end, waded in.

“Looks like you like the water.” Her throaty voice came from my elbow where she surfaced suddenly after a fast crawl across the length. She looked frankly at my crotch.

Raised an eyebrow. Winked. I looked down at myself, and what I saw made me choke on my beer.

I stammered something apologetic, and blundered away, out of the pool toward the towels.

“Jason,” she said softly in my ear, her hands on my hips. “Stop.” She took the towel and draped it around my waist, hiding my erection. “Better?”

I gulped, nodded.  Filled my mouth with beer, since I had nothing to say.

“I think you should come into the kitchen with me,” she said softly.

I followed, watching her pert butt twitch under the orange, wet and creamy. My Willie came back up immediately. It had been a rough month with Lizzie, who would not touch me for fear we would inadvertently “go all the way.”

“Kath…” I said.

“Shhhhh…” she turned, stopping me with a finger to my lips. She pulled the towel from my waist, and looked fondly at my cock, pointing from my sweats. She took the bulge in her hand. “Nice, Jason. My daughter is a lucky girl.”

“We don’t… she…” I stopped.

She looked me appraisingly in the eye. Pulled the string on her top, which fell to the floor, revealing her perfect breasts. They were way too big for her slim body, obviously enhanced, but God, I didn’t care.

She pulled my shorts down and took my cock in her strong fingers. “Jason, I think you should just let me handle this,” she said. “You remember I told you you reminded me of someone?” I nodded.

“He was my boyfriend all through the 10th and 11th grade. I never… gave him any.” She looked me in the eye. “Never… fucked him.” She licked her lips. “I gave it to the next boyfriend. He didn’t really deserve it, but he was … more aggressive. Tom was too shy, too polite. I’ve always regretted it. So I want you to be Tom for me, now, for an hour.”

“But…” I gulped.

“..you love my daughter. I know. She’s who you want. But for now, I want you, and it will be good practice. Just do me, and forget I’m her mom. Fuck me.” My ears began to buzz, and I felt my breath speed up. “And when it’s done, go back to your life, and to Liz, and forget this. We’ll never speak of it again.”

“Wow,” she said huskily. “Very nice, Tom, is that for me?” She sank to her knees. “God, I love your cock,” she said as she took me into her mouth.

It felt amazing. I had no idea. I couldn’t help it; I started to move, pushing my stiff cock into her hot wet mouth, like it was Lizzie’s pussy.

She laughed softly and sucked harder, took me in deeper, working me with her hand like she knew how it worked. “I need you to fuck me, Tom,” she said and took me deep again, real deep. All of a sudden, I knew it. I was going to blow it. In her mouth. I couldn’t help it. “Kath,” I panted. “I…”

“It’s okay,” she said smoothly, between strokes. “You can come in my mouth, baby. Go ahead. You’re sixteen, you’ll have another one in 10 minutes.” She sucked me in again and in pretty short order I let go, spurting into her searing mouth.

“Ahhhh… Oh, Kath….”

She giggled, sucking, swallowing.

“Tommy, your cock is as delicious as I could’ve hoped,” she stood and took off her bottoms. “I hope my pussy is all you dreamed of when you used to look up my skirt in home room.”

It was gorgeous. Trimmed, soft reddish blonde hair, lighter than on her head, framed the muscular legs, and the golden throat of her cunt winked liquid at me. I could smell musky, womanly scent, and my shrinking cock leaped back to life.

She grinned. “Nice recovery, Tommy. You want…?”

I nodded.

“You don’t secretly want Jennifer, or Ashley, or… John?” she teased, her voice sinking to  a low rasping giggle, schoolgirl nervous.

I grabbed her around the waist, picked her up, setting her on the kitchen counter. She was lighter and harder by a third than Liz, and she didn’t fight me.

She pinched my nipple hard as I drove my cock up between those gorgeous spread legs and into her oily warm cunt.

“Oh!” she said softly as I rammed my cock all the way into her heat. “Fuck me, Tom. You’ve got a beautiful cock…mmmmmm….”

I was raging hard and she felt like fire across the inflamed head of my cock. I was ready to come already, but she stopped me cold with her hands. “Easy,” she said, and I obeyed, despite the raging lust in my blood.

“Slow, stallion,” she said, hands on my chest. She took over the pace, and began to draw me in, slowly, deeply, milking my cock. Her hand on my ass, she drove, and her speed made me insane.

She pushed me up, making me pull out, and sat up, facing me. She stared into my eyes, pushing down on my shoulders until my face was against her gorgeous tits.   I took her nipple in my mouth and sucked hard. “Easy,” she commanded again.

I tried.

After a few moans from her as I nibbled and licked her hard nipples, washing my tongue across the perfect swell of her sculpted breasts, she urged me down further, until her cunt was in my face, guided my mouth to the right spot, showed me how to lick her, how to slide my tongue into her, how to work her clit around without really touching it directly. The taste was exciting, naughty, gamy, sexy. I could feel her start to quiver, her juices leaking, seeping across my tongue, hear her soft moans escape as if she was trying to stifle them.

“Oh, Tommy, this is so naughty,” she gasped. “The teacher will hear us..!” then she began to shudder and shake, grinding her cunt against my chin, her hands winding deep into my hair, pulling it.

“You horny little fucker,” she squealed. “Eating my pussy like that. What’s gotten into you? What’s gotten into me? Your tongue, that’s what. Hold it still now. Make it hard. Point, like this.”  She demonstrated with her own tongue. I did, and she rode it, sliding herself up and down against it, harder, faster, gasping for breath. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m fucking cominnnnnnngggg…ahhhhh…!

Suddenly she froze and squealed, grabbing my hair in both hands and pressing herself hard against my mouth.  “Oh, fuck,” she said softly.

My face was flooded with warm juices, and she  made a choking noise. I licked her softly as she slowly relaxed and caught her breath.

She let go of my hair and I stood, reached for my pants.

She stopped me with her hand.

“Fuck me,” she said. “Stick that hard cock inside me, boy. Hurry.”

I did, and she squealed again, as I started to pump myself deep inside her soaking snatch.

She started coming again, squeezing me, calling my name.

My name? When had she stopped calling me Tom?

“Jason… oooohhhh…baby boy. Ride me.”

I picked up the pace, excited to hear my name in her mouth, slamming into her juicy cunt. She cried out and pushed me away, pulled me up onto the counter top and climbed on top of me, driving herself down forcefully to bury my cock in her tight, blazing hot pussy. “Oh, my God,” I groaned. “Please…” She moaned, her tits jerking above my mouth, tantalizingly just out of reach as she gyrated up and down on top of me.

 

I reached up and pulled her down toward me until I could grab her nipple in my teeth, and nibbled lightly. She stiffened, cried out. A spasm ran through her body and her cunt reacted by squeezing me even tighter as she rammed down until there was no place to go but off. I shot over the edge, moaning her name, blowing up inside her, Liz’s mom, the movie star, up into her thrusting brown body.

“God,” she gasped when she had caught her breath. “Liz is in for a treat.”

Still seated on me, she reached across the counter and into a drawer, rummaging. “Yep. I knew it. The man’s a creature of habit.” She pulled a bottle of brandy from under the bread and took a long draw.

“So. Jason,” she said it like she was trying to remember who I was. “How long have you known my daughter?”

It was surreal, being suddenly quizzed by her as she sat on my slowly deflating dick. “I… uh…well, um, her dad bought this land from my uncle…”

She frowned, took another pull on the booze. “How long have you lived in the county?” She passed the to me, and I took some. The liquid burned down into my body and I shivered.

“I was born here,” I coughed as the liquid hit bottom. “My uncle Tom, uh…”

She stiffened. “Tom? What… what’s your last name? Please don’t say Mc…”

I nodded.

“Oh, shit,” she said softly, finally rising from on top of me and sitting on the counter beside me. “Oh, shit.”

“Tom was gay,” I blurted.

“Oh, fuck me,” she said, but I don’t think she meant it literally this time.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I saw the expression on her face. “I shouldn’t have told you that. You… had a thing… with him.”

“It’s ridiculous, really. That was a lifetime ago. I don’t know why I thought nobody’s else’s life would have moved on. Is he…?”

“He died a few years ago…AIDS. That’s when we moved to this farm from town.”

She lowered herself to the floor and walked across to her purse. Flicked through it idly, then grabbed her suit and cover. She nodded, and a tear slipped from her nose to the floor. She sniffed. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get in the pool, and remove some evidence before we get dressed.”

I followed her to the door, stopped to grab my trunks from where they had fallen on the floor. She stopped at the door, walked back and grabbed the flask. She took my hand as we got to the water, and we waded naked into the shallow end. She did a fast crawl toward the diving board, then turned and came back to me where I’d stopped, water up to my ass. She swam right up and took my cock in her hands, washing the juices gently. I felt myself begin to harden again. She smiled ruefully. “Duck,” she said. “Wash me out of your beard.” I did, and when I stood up and opened my eyes, she was sitting in one of the cutouts, her face at crotch level. She reached behind her and took a small white device and a lighter. Lit the stick and inhaled sharply. She held it toward me, questioningly.

I recalled now that she’d dropped something to the deck when I’d walked in, which seemed hours ago.

I took it, inhaled cautiously, careful not to put it out with my wet fingers. Passed it back to her.

“Weed…” she said, taking a deep drag, holding it… “makes me…”

She took me in her fingers again, and despite all the weirdness and the fact that Liz could come in the door any second, I was instantly erect. Her mouth engulfed me, taking me deep into her throat.

“I don’t think….” I began.

“Don’t think,” she said softly. “Just feel.”

Her mouth felt heavenly, and I slid into a place I had never been. Stoned. So this was what that felt like. I closed my eyes and rode her throat, thrusting as if I was fucking her again. My balls skimmed the water with each movement, adding to the excitement. I floated on the sensations, unable to resist her in the least.

Then, as I was rising to the crest, she got her feet and I started to open my eyes. “Don’t,” she whispered, putting her hands over my eyes. “Keep your eyes closed and just feel me.” Her hands squeezed and milked my cock. Out of the darkness I heard a click and several beeps. She was on the phone.

“Lizzy, dear,” I heard her say. “Could I get you to stop by my favorite place and get dinner? Yes. You know what I want.” She chuckled. “Love you, dear.” The phone closed.  “We’re safe for another 45 minutes, lover.” Her mouth seized me again and it was up, up, up…

She stopped again, moved. “Eyes closed,” she reminded me sternly.

Then she pulled me to her and I felt my cock pressing against her slippery flesh, dipping into her cunt. My hands on her hips, I drove myself hard into her. “Ohhhh…” she said softly, pressing back. “Nice. But I get to drive, ‘cause I have the license. All you have is learner’s permit.” She pulled away and took my cock in her hand again, milking me. Then she pressed back onto me again and gasped as I slid into her from a new angle, from behind. God, this woman was tight. I thrust forward again, and she squealed, pulled away and then pushed back, taking me in, but slowly. “Gently, gently,” she whispered , her voice tense. Then after a moment, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing by stages and took me into her all the way. “Oh, baby,” she sighed. “I love your cock in me this way. Just fuck me. You don’t need to be gentle now.”

 

I rammed it home and began to pound her in earnest, my head in the clouds. What she was doing different, I didn’t know. The weed had taken me away, and my cock felt like it had never felt, thicker and longer, bursting with nerve endings. For an eternity we moved in rhythm, our parts meshing like magic, my thoughts suspended as my body felt everything deeply, drank it in, and then, without warning, I felt myself begin to climax inside her, my cock swelling large and long, reaching to her very core. She cried out, thrust herself back against me and her body rocked with the spasms, squeezing me almost brutally as she came. “Oh, Kath…” I moaned. “Oh, I love… fucking you…”

“Ohhhhh, take me, Tommy,” she groaned. “Take my ass. It’s yours. You should have had my virginity, and now you have it.”

I pulled out, and opened my eyes in time to see the last wave of sperm gush from my cock and splash across her perfect butt. She thrust back and knocked me from the ledge into the pool. I lay and floated as I got my breath, marveling at the sensations.

After a bit she joined me in the water, rinsing our bodies and kissing me deeply, her hands on my ass. Then she pulled away, took my hand and led me to the steps. “I guess we’d better get dressed, Jason,” she said. “Dinner will be here in a minute.”

I pulled on my trunks watching her ass as she dressed, then collapsed on the chaise lounge. Wow, did this feel great. I closed my eyes and reveled in the feelings that ran though my body, relaxing deeply.

I wasn’t aware of sleeping, but suddenly I tuned in to the delicious smell of pizza. Liz was there, and I could hear the whispered conversation between the two women. “Yeah,  poor boy’s not used to that kind of work; he’s had a hard day,” Liz said. “Probably should let him rest.”

The door closed behind them, and the pool area lights went down a notch. I lay there a bit longer, then yawned and got up, located the pizza box by smell and finished it off in a dark corner, then stretched out and slept again.

The flesh is weak…very weak…

I find her disgusting. Teased, bleached, bloated, blemished, varicose, loud, and pushy, she’s the epitome of the word.

And irresistible.

My sister-in-law’s sunburned thighs, like ham-hocks protruding out of stressed blue cotton, draw me like a moth. As she walks by, masticating loudly, I step in behind her, and place my hands on her ample hips, and she stops. From behind, the sweep of her posterior is impressive, rounded, switching under yards of cloth at the slightest movement. I pull her by the hips, back to meet my erection, sliding my hands up under her hopelessly-dated cut-off midriff-baring T-shirt, past the double roll of flesh lapping out over the elastic waistband of her short-shorts, and apprehend the swaying, pendulous melons.

She whirls around to slap my face, a condiment-heavy hotdog clenched in her other fist. I catch her hand, and stare into the red-rimmed eyes for a moment, before seizing her poodle-permed, nappy head and turning it to face away from me again, panting with urgency, and administering a sound slap to her massive rump. She squirms, pinned against the door frame, as I yank the shorts to her knees. The rich stench of sweat and ripe, unwashed pussy floods my nostrils as I survey the bright white expanse of her naked butt, pantyless.

She grunts, as I press my groin against it, then, with my free hand, tug my shorts down, and free my prodigious hard-on to nestle between her slick, perspiring cheeks. Her hands clutch the doorframe for support, and the hotdog falls to the floor with a sodden thump as my hands yank her legs apart, and slide my fingers into her wet crotch, wrenching it open. Then, with no preliminaries, I’m in.

A cloud of noxious, fishy air, freed by my invading penis, wafts up to engulf my nostrils. Another grunt from her ketchup-laden, grimacing lips, but that’s all. With her family, my wife amongst them, visible through the window, clustered about the grill, oblivious, I clamp again onto her massive, swinging boulders, and begin to pole her in earnest. More grunts. Twisting her nipples, I look for a reaction.

She whistles.

Her cunt is tight, greasy, and blow-torch hot. Pumping in and out roughly and deeply, I’m soon spraying into her forcefully, while her groin thumps rhythmically against the doorframe.

“Hunnnhhh…!” And she comes, spasmodically, clenching, quivering flesh straining toward relief, her crooked teeth clamping tightly, grinding.  “Bastard.”

She hikes up her shorts, and totters shakily outside to refuel.

Over the summer, the scene repeats itself countless times, right down to the struggle, as if choreographed.

***

This time, she brings her voice with her, and her command of filth is impressive. I never knew the power of sex talk before. Her fat ass begins to give me erections from across the yard, a prospect that fills me with self-loathing so deep in almost obliterates the raging lust.

Almost.

“I want to know what my sister does for you, fuckhead,” she mutters in my ear, as I’m thrusting deep into her for the third time, she standing with her back to me, her head craning over her shoulder.

I ignore her, and concentrate on my cock, which is working overtime. But her words penetrate nonetheless, as does the fact that her family is once again an unconscious backdrop for this tête-à-tête. The combination works its strange magic, and I experience a surge of … something.

“What…?” I gasp, slowing to a stop.

“What’s she do? How do you fuck her?” She whispers gratingly.

“Well… we…” I start.

“More important, motherfucker, what doesn’t she do?” She turns and takes my cock in her hand. Sinking to her knees, she licks her juices from my sex-slimed organ. “Does she blow you?”

I tug her head into my crotch, and jam her mouth full of cock. “Wouldn’t ‘sisterfucker’ be more appropriate?” I ask. After a few thrusts, she pulls away, gagging.

“Does she?” she demands, doubtfully.

“Yeah. But she won’t do it like you are, after…” I pull her forward again, and she comes more willingly. “I like a blowjob after a good screw.”

She gives it a good try. Her enthusiasm is catching, and I begin to fuck her mouth. “Open your throat, bitch. You wanna show up your little sister? Suck like you mean it. That’s it. Take it way down. Deep throat me, you filthy slut. She doesn’t do that.”

She gags, hitches as I go deep. Deep throat, my ass. But her technique is no longer all that important. A wet soft mouth will do, and a throat. My hands in her hair, I’m driving.

“You know what else she won’t do?” I’m panting now, very close.

She makes a muffled sound of interrogation, or maybe it’s just a choking sound.

“She won’t swallow.” Now, I’m there. “Ummmmm.”

“But you will swallow, won’t ya, bitch?” Her neck convulses, as I slam in and out, and retching sounds issue around my spurting penis. “Hurry! Your mom’s headed this way! Swallow, slut!”

She retches, and gulps it back, as I thrust a few more times, then pull out, trailing sputum, a white cord flowing into her mouth. Frantically, she laps me, doglike, sneaking a look toward the window. Then, seeing no sign of Mom, she makes a sound of disbelief, before dashing toward the bathroom. Through the door, I see her kneeling, vomiting.

Presently, she looks at me and smiles. A runner of saliva hangs from her chin. “You really are a shit, you know.”

“I know.”

“Whatever she does, I always do better.”

I had to admit she was right, at least, in this case. “Little more practice, you’ll be a perfect cocksucker.”

She comes back over, and sinks to her knees. With a massive effort, she pulls my flaccid penis back into her throat, and washes it clean. Then, she rises and, more than likely reeking, she rejoins her family. I’m relieved. The thought of a quid-pro-quo request, even though I’d never feel obligated to fulfill it, makes me seriously nauseous.

* ** *

“So. You want to do what li’l sister won’t?”

Obviously, I’ve gotten into the game. She stands, her shorts around her ankles, breathing hard from the exertion of being quiet while I spank her, my cock hard and deep inside her. Through the window, the cookout backdrop is the same as always.

Grunting, she drops and blows. She’s gotten good, and I’m soon hard again. I pull her upright.

She comes hesitatingly, puzzled.

“You want to do what sister don’t?” She nods.

“Turn around, and bend over the bed.”

She complies eagerly, though she hasn’t made the connection, bending her wide body almost double. I press myself into her slick cunt, and she grunts with anticipation. I pull out and press my cock against her cheeks, slipping wetly up against her anus.

Finally, the reaction I am seeking. “Oh, no. Not that.” She starts to rise.

“Yeah, I knew you were too wussy to go through with it.” She stops in midrise, and I prod her butt with my erection again. “You and your ‘I can do anything better then she can.'” Another tremendous whack across her sore ass.

With a mighty sigh, she nods. “Okay.” Her head flops back down to the bed, and she pulls her cheeks apart obligingly. Pushing into her wet pussy again for lubrication, I decide it’s not enough.

“Wait.” I reach behind me and open the hall closet. The Vaseline is just where I expected. Why do people always put it in the same spot? Hmmm…

She waits, her white cheeks spread. I slide a grease-coated finger along the crease, and she tenses. Quickly, I thrust my penis into her anal cleft, and bore in. She grunts mightily, but holds determinedly still as I ride a cushion of petroleum jelly up into her rectum. It’s tight and slick, and begins to warm up as I begin thrusting. She moans, a long painful sound. “Ohhhh… uhhhhh.” I pick up the pace, and she trails off.

I’m slamming her buttcheeks now, harder, faster, with animal abandon, the bedsprings screaming as her knees bounce off the side of the mattress. Her moans have blended into one long unbroken vowel stream, but she does not ask me to stop.

Then I smell her foul arousal scent and realize that she enjoys being hurt. I oblige by reaching around and pinching her clitoris. Her response is electric, and that’s when I realize that she’s coming, has been for a while now. The discovery sends me over, and I blast into her, slipping mostly out to spray the foul stuff across her back. Her grunting takes on a mournful sound when she realizes the pain is over. Shakily, she drops face forward onto the bed, ejecting me from her completely.

I swab my sticky, smelly groin with a washcloth for several minutes, then walk past, unable to resist a loud smack across her massive cheeks, out into the yard. For the first time, I am the first to return to the cookout.

From the corner of my eye, I see her older sister watching me appraisingly.

On Being Used

He’s looking at me from across the lawn, smiling in a sexy, dangerous, slightly greasy way.

I’m not sure why he picked me; I’m not out, and this is a hetero wedding. I’m not even gay. I’m really just mildly bi, more interested in women than men, by a factor of twenty to one most days.

At first, I’m pretty sure he’s after my tablemates, the two “out” queers on either side of me. Kelvin and Gary have been a couple for a decade, and Gary, the “chick” in the couple, likes to flirt. I’ve known them for 4 of their 10 years together, and I know it’s allowed, even encouraged, in their relationship.

At first Gary thinks that hot, pumped Latino guy with the vaguely outdated cocky greaser look is after his ass too. Then it dawns on them both, and they look at me. “Dude, I think it’s you he wants.” I’m not buying, but then I look back at him and he smiles in my direction.

He has that arrogant way of looking at me, like he knows he can have me whenever he wants. I am not used to a man looking at me that way; I think of myself as more of the hunter than the hunted.

He finds me at the bar, gives me his card and tells me to call him. Just ‘Jose’ and a cell number. This guy’s a real player, I guess.

I check him out with the groom, without telling him why I’m asking; just that I spoke to this guy, do you know him? The groom doesn’t ask why I’m asking; he knows I’m bi, but he doesn’t like to think about it. He tells me, though, probably just in case, that Jose has a date here at the wedding, a long-time lover; they’ve been living together for 15 years and have adopted children. The groom knows them from church, one of the more-active families in this very politically and socially active congregation.

I decide I’m not going to do this. He’s been with the man forever, and they’ve got kids, for Christ’s sake. Besides… I’m not really into men that much. I fuck them once in awhile, usually in a group situation or a three-way with a couple.

But somehow, later that weekend, after the tryst with the current woman has panted its way to a close and she’s on the plane back home, I do call and he’s pretty close by and says he wants to stop by, not for sex or anything, but just because. Before I know it, he’s at my door, smiling that cocky grin.

“Did I tell you how much I like your look?” he says, his voice a soft but somehow firm caress. “That scruffy wild thing you have going.”

I don’t like kissing, but he doesn’t ask, just kisses me, his tongue insistent in my throat. He’s shorter than I am, but he just grabs me around the neck and pulls me down to him, his hands on my ass and I feel him hard against my leg. I am surprised to find I am getting hard, too; usually, I don’t get hard when a man is about to fuck me.

“I like your cock, too,” he says, rubbing it through my pants before taking it out and massaging it in his palms. “A masculine thing, mixed with wanting to be fucked like a woman.”

He reaches into his pants and I find myself sinking to my knees in front of him. His cock’s dimensions are so different from mine; where the head of mine is thick and rounded, mushroom-shaped, the top of a meat lollipop, his is sleek and cobra-like, the head is smaller than the shoulders, torpedo-shaped. He’s longer than me, and I am not small. Thick as I am, he’s almost as thick, everywhere except the head.

I take him experimentally into my mouth, and lick, softly suck. He moans and runs his hands through my hair. I stop, and tell him. “I don’t… really know how to do this. Do you?”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll you teach you,” he murmurs tenderly

I’m thinking since he’s gay, not bi like me, he certainly knows how to suck cock. I’m thinking he’ll show me how he does it.

I’m wrong. His idea of how to teach me is to take my head in his hands and force his cock into my hitching throat, inch by inch, slow but insistent. His thick, high, tightly-clenched balls slide across my chin and thump against my lower lip. He starts to move, fucking my mouth and throat.

I try to take him all in, but my throat isn’t cooperating, and I gag every time he hits the back of it. So I try to make it work another way, using my hand as an extension of my mouth, wrapping him tightly in my fist and swirling my tongue around the glans. He moans and thrusts harder, pushing along my tongue and into my hitching throat again and again, bringing choking grunts and making my eyes fill from the strain.

After a few minutes of this, I am ready to try something else, so I lead him by his rigid and still-growing cock — uncircumcized like me, I think, but when he’s hard, the foreskin is so stretched smooth that it’s hard to say for sure – to the bedroom, and he takes over.

He pushes me to a bending position in front of the bed, quickly peels off my shorts and drops them, then his. I hear him rip the envelope and then snap a condom onto his cock while his slippery finger smears my crack with lube.

“Get ready, baby,” he says, his voice thick with lust. I try to make myself relax, as I feel his glans, snake-like in my mind’s eye in relation to the rearing hood of his cock, press against and pry me open.

I had taken to shaving my ass over the past few weeks in vague preparation for something like this. I’d never done this before. No hair around my hole, nothing to tug or to smell… or slow him down, I discover.

He’s not subtle, pressing my anus in a few short hard jabs and forcing it open, entering me with a masterful thrust, then ramming his thick cock in to the hilt a second later, muscling past the second involuntary sphincter without waiting for it to open. It’s deeply painful and wonderful at the same time, being so completely manhandled, mastered. It’s not my first assfuck by a long shot, but it’s the first time I have been so utterly emasculated, made into a woman. I find I like the role, at least for the moment, and I begin to pant and moan in a decidedly un-butch way.

“Oh yeah, bitch,” he says, his voice tight with brutal glee as he rams himself in again and holds, his heavy balls pressed to my cheeks. “You’re tight as fuck.”

I’m glad he noticed, but I wanted him to say something about my smooth ass, after all the work of getting it so soft and feminine. But he’s too busy slamming himself in, filling me and I can’t speak for the feeling of being so close to being hurt by the length and thickness of that cock.

He stops outside for a second, then punches in and stretches me open, pulls out, rams in again, making me groan with pain, and he loves it. “Yeah,” he says in my ear, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back, arching my back. “I like my bitches to make noise. Talk dirty to me.”

“Oh, God,” I hear myself moan. “Please fuck me harder, Jose. Fuck my tight little smooth ass.  Punish it.”

He growls with satisfaction and slams me again, letting go of my hair and knocking me onto the bed, splayed forward, my forehead resting on the bed and my forearms and elbows braced to keep him from pounding me into the headboard. “Get up on the bed,” he says in a minute, and I obey his order without thinking, get on my knees on the bed, my hips clasped tightly in his hands as he pummels my smooth hairless ass, always going in so far I feel his nuts spanking me.

I feel his cock swelling ever thicker, pressing against my pubic bone from the inside, rubbing my swollen prostate as he bangs me. Then with a triumphant roar, he explodes deep inside me, and holds still, his hot semen boiling into my colon sending me over the edge and I blow my load too. With his turgid dick plunging itself into my midsection, I come so hard, my load flings itself a record distance and splatters across the bed, my torso, and even the headboard, a sweet, painfully hard orgasm that leaves me weak and shaky. I collapse on the bed face down, and he rams me for a last few thrusts before he comes to a rest inside me.

“I fucked you good, didn’t I, baby?” he pants. “Say it. You wanted to be fucked, and I fucked the hell out of your ass, huh?”

“Yes, Jose,” I say meekly. “You fucked me good and hard. You were the best.” I stretch out my arms above my head, arch my back, and note the ache in my butt, know it will be sore in the morning.

He chuckles, satisfied, and thrusts a few more times before he pulls out with a pop, and slaps my ass as he heads for the bathroom. “Nice ass, Melanie,” he says. “I could ream you all night, but you’d never be able to handle it.”

I luxuriate in the unfamiliar feeling of being the femme. “Don’t bet on it, Pablo,” I say.

“I’ll be back for you, my gringo whore,” he says as he passes by on the way out, drops a few twenties on the nightstand. “Buy yourself something nice. Now come here and kiss my cock goodbye.”

I move too slowly, and he grabs a  handful of hair, hauls me over and sticks his cock in my face. He seems to have washed it, but I’m still not convinced. Doesn’t matter. He feeds it between my closed lips and I open, and then he’s in again, thrusting, riding my face, his balls somehow still full, slapping my face. His pubic hair smells like sweat and sex, and I realize he’s ready to come again, as I am adjusting my throat to let him pass. Suddenly the idea of making him come is very intoxicating and I start to suck hard, my vision blurring as he goes deeper and deeper. Then he stops and I take over the motion, running my hands over his tight muscular ass, milking him, moving my head and shoulders faster and sucking harder until he explodes, filling my mouth with hot milky come, spurting some into my throat. His balls contract and pull up against my lips and chin as he unloads it all in my mouth, all except the strands that splash across my lips and cheeks.

He laughs. “I told you I’d teach you,” he says.

“You taught me, sweetie,” I say. “Now go back to your wife and kids.”

His grin falters a bit. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d better. But we’ll do this again, real soon. I love to dig that hole again.”

It’ll be more than ten years before I see him again. Probably just enough time for me to get ready for it.

Scratching the seven-year itch, pt. 1

As we got to the door, Kay caught my arm.

“I changed my mind. I don’t wanna do it after all.”

I sighed, and turned toward her. Just then the door opened, and Tom and Cherry stood there, smiling. “Well?” I asked softly. But she didn’t answer. Her eyes had gone to his groin, covered by a robe, but nonetheless enough so as to catch her attention.

She took my hands and walked into the house.

*

At an Italian restaurant in Bethany Beach a few weeks earlier, we had a met an older couple with whom we’d spent most of the evening. We were just coming from the dining room, our dinner having been perfect, and they were sitting at at the piano bar in our customary spots. One stool beside them was open, and I suggested she take it while I stood to order the bottle of wine. The pianist, Jim, had yet to begin his set.

Kay and I had discovered this place several years earlier, on a spur-of-the moment weekend trip in January, and it had become our ‘birthday spot’ ever since. We were the same sign, with birthdays a few days apart, and we had discovered, quite by accident that first time, the joys of this beach town in winter. All the top-notch hotels were priced within reach, and we could get a beachfront condo with a Jacuzzi, valet parking, all within walking distance of this best Italian restaurant with a piano bar, for about half what a fleabag would cost during the summer.

As I ordered, I caught the eye of the lady beside me, and she smiled as she checked her watch. “I hope it’s worth the wait!” she said.

“You don’t have a reservation?” I asked. “Oh, don’t worry; we got right in. Maybe you’ll get our table.”

“We have a reservation, and we’re still waiting. You had no reservation?” She asked incredulously.

“None.”

And so began a nice evening with the couple, Pat and Kay (yes, another Kay; We’ll call her K2). As they waited for their table, we shared our bottle of wine with them, a fairly good Merlot. Not exactly an after-dinner wine, but we never were overly observant of food etiquette; at the time, neither of us liked white wines, and would even shatter genteel tradition by drinking red with poultry and fish, which was almost as bad as wearing white after Labor Day, or wearing plaid with stripes, I think. Although now they say you should match your wine’s color to the entree’s sauce, not the meat. So what now about plaid; it’s only a sin if it doesn’t match your overcoat? Whoever ‘they’ are, they can kiss my peasant ass.

Ahem.

Pat, it seemed, was a photographer, and Kay, a decorator. They were from North Carolina, and touted that state’s vineyard tradition. We smiled politely, unconvinced that Muscat was going to take the world by storm. After questioning the maitre d’, we discovered the reason for their wait, and our speedy accommodation: They’d been assigned to nonsmoking, and we’d expressed no preference. We all found the irony amusing: They both smoked, and we did not.

Finally, their table was called, and they departed. Kay and I ordered another bottle. Jim, at the piano warming up, recognized us – ‘the birthday kids’ – and nodded, swinging into ‘It had to be you’. His singer, a young lady with classical training whose name we could never recall, showed eventually, and they sang our favorites as always, ‘Makin’ Whoopee’ and ‘Let’s Get Lost.’

Then someone touched my arm, and I looked up to see K2 smiling at me, Pat in tow. “Mind if we join you?” We moved over, and the four of us spent the rest of the evening at the piano bar. Once I danced with Kay, and saw them watching us. Later I danced with K2, and hoped to see my spouse and Pat follow suit. I watched, but Pat made no move toward Kay. Never one to be shy, she leaned forward and spoke to him. He smiled, shook his head, and they spoke for awhile.

Around that time, my attention was suddenly distracted by K2’s hands, on of which had lowered from my shoulder to my hip, pulling me closer, while the other was playing with my hair where it curled past my collar. I smiled into her eyes, feeling heat in my thighs – and not incidentally, in hers – and her soft breasts pressing my chest. She looked to be older than the two of us by close to ten years, and Pat appeared closer to fifteen. Her hand strayed aimlessly back to my neck, and she touched my cheek softly as the dance ended. I noticed then that she wore no ring.

As we sat back down, the Kays took a ladies room break, and Pat went out for a cigarette. My Kay returned first, and told me, giggling, that this older couple was unmarried, just living together  in sin, as we were. “I think she wants to know more about us. I wonder why?” An idea began to take hold in my mind, but before I could figure out how to ask her opinion, the other two returned.

We spent a very enjoyable evening, but no one danced anymore. My Kay confirmed that she’d asked Pat and been refused, as he was ‘an awful dancer,’ and she’d had no desire to embarrass him. When the bar closed, we exchanged addresses, because they had promised to send us a bottle of Carolina’s best red. K2’s hands pressed me closer and her lips touched my neck bit hard when I hugged her. Later, as Kay and I undressed for bed, I asked her what she’d have thought if I’d asked them to come with us. She paused to consider, then said she’d probably have liked it, if she could get past her discomfort at any sort of awkwardness. She confirmed that he was the type of older man she finds attractive. Another opportunity squandered. I wondered if I’d ever get the nerve to ask such a question of anyone.

As we had sex that night, I boozily suggested Kay call me Pat. She seized onto the idea, and played it to the hilt. I was amused by the thought that Pat and K2 could be in the suite next door,  for all we knew, hearing her call his name when I thrust hard. Whomever was there was certainly being spurred on by something. That couple outdid us in every way; enthusiasm, duration, and volume. I wish I’d walked over and asked them to keep it down, just to see if it was truly them.

Rewinding further:

A few years earlier, we’d gone to her company’s Christmas party, a company with whom I’d worked in the past, and we’d been seated with an older couple. The lady, Martha, was a woman we’d both worked with, an attractive, well-endowed brunette in her fifties, and her companion was a man named Ed, about ten years younger and blond. Later, when he asked Kay to dance, Martha and I followed.

Her pliant body aroused me, as it had when I worked with her, when her quick laugh and suggestive humor had always made me wonder if she were doing more than kidding. She carried on with all the guys, so I had no illusions on that score. But in her more sober moments, she would mourn her recently-ended 20-year marriage, and say she’d welcome more male attention.

Kay was glowing when she and Ed returned from the floor. I asked her discretely if he’d made a pass, and she said he hadn’t, but told me what he had said. ‘You have a very muscular body.’ I wondered if he knew just how happy that made her, after her ugly-duckling teens. At the time, I didn’t know her well enough to know her taste in men, (other than me, of course) but later she told me she did find him attractive, and expounded on what she liked. Receding hair, authority mixed with playfulness. No wonder she’s with me; I fit into the first category in spades.

But in spite of the fact that Martha and Ed would’ve been a good choice, the subject – as with Pat and K2 – was never broached until too late, and only then in joking manner: I asked Kay if she’d have sex with him, if I were in the next room with Martha. “Only if you were locked in the next room,” she smiled. I never knew if she was serious or not. And I never got close to discussing something like that with Martha, due to a shyness about her religious background.

Sex that night, as the night when we later met Pat and K2, was enhanced for both of us.

*

As Kay and I entered Tom and Cherry’s house, Cherry took Kay’s arm, and they went to the kitchen. I proceeded to lay down the ground rules to Tom. “Kay and I will start to have sex, and you guys do the same. When – If – Kay relaxes enough, then we’ll switch. What happens after that is up in the air, but be gentle and don’t force anything. Don’t be rough unless she asks you to.” Tom agreed. He, Cherry and I had all known that Kay was the ‘Big Unknown’; she was not totally adverse to this idea, but she was very nervous,  and the wrong approach could ruin it forever. We’d all had some question as to whether she’d do it at all. Only Kay and I knew that a big part of that was that she found Tom unattractive. In fact, that was the reason I’d not wanted to coax her when she hesitated at the door.

But, as she and I had decided, this was the only chance we’d yet had. Tom and Cherry approached me, alone, a few weeks earlier, saying that they suspected Kay wasn’t ‘into that sort of thing’, and that I could come alone or bring another woman if I wanted. I’d told them I’d think about it, and in the end, I asked Kay, deciding that, while my first time with more than one person could be fun, the big thrill for me would be to see Kay with another man.

Cherry was attractive enough, in a Wal Mart sense; big breasts, short, tanned legs, and a well-rounded butt. Her pixie-cut strawberry blond hair made her look quite young in spite of having borne three children, and in her slutty clothing, she appealed to me on a base, perverse level. Tonight she wore a black negligee tucked into skintight cutoff jeans with a zippered crotch which went all the way around. But what I found the most intriguing about her was her bisexuality. I knew that I couldn’t let her tell Kay, or she’d be out the door like a shot. Cherry had agreed to keep silent.

The girls came back in, bearing drinks, and we all sat down, the other couple on the recliner chair, and Kay and I on the sofa. We made small talk while Tom set up the VCR, and we watched an X-rated movie called ‘The Opening of Misty Beethoven’ which I knew Kay liked. She could get aroused by almost any moderately good pornography, whether printed or filmed, as could I. I supposed this could pass for moderately good, assuming one was being charitable.

Soon, her eyes began to get that glassy look that I recognized as lust. I began to massage her through her silk shorts-and-Tshirt set, which was all she’d worn under her winter coat. Her groin felt very warm, and I watched my crotch grow through the silk boxers I wore, as she idly touched my leg. Then I saw where her eyes looked: not at the screen, where Misty was getting a first lesson, but over on the recliner where Cherry was kneeling on the floor in front of Tom, her mouth engulfing his penis. With her eyes glued to the action across the room, Kay did not even seem to notice as I pulled her silk bottoms off, followed by my own shorts.

My hands found that she was indeed wet and willing. I knelt in front of her and began to manipulate her clitoris with my tongue. Her eyes fixed on Cherry’s bobbing head, she caught her breath as my finger entered her slowly followed by another. Soon her hips moved in rhythm, and her eyes closed as they always did when she was aroused this way.

I kept it up for about five minutes, my tongue steadily teasing her, my fingers dipping in and and out. I could hear sounds behind me on the chair, and realized that they’d probably be getting impatient. Then I felt a hand reach between my legs and grasp my penis, and could only hope it was Cherry. She began to move around until she’d positioned herself on her back, her mouth between my thighs, and began to fellate me. I noticed that her body was moving rhythmically beneath me, and soon gathered that Tom was screwing her at the same time although I could not see him. I decided to finish up so we could try something else.

I picked up the speed of my tongue strokes on Kay’s clit, while easing off the pressure. She responded, breathing harder, and I watched for the telltale motion of her eyes, moving wildly REM-like under closed lids. There it was. With Cherry’s inexpert but enthusiastic lips clamped around my cock, I suddenly thrust another finger into Kay’s vagina, shoving all three in hard, strumming madly with my tongue. Her hips bucked, and she groaned aloud, thrusting her hips forward and grinding herself onto my chin. Then she went rigid, her feet braced on the floor, and her breath came whooshing out.

I kept up the motions with my tongue for a short time longer until she stopped me with her hand, and opened her eyes. They widened as she saw Cherry’s head beneath me, and then drifted over to Tom, who knelt behind me, Cherry’s legs over his shoulders. Tom, watching Kay’s orgasm, had stopped thrusting, and froze, kneeling, his prick just touching Cherry’s vaginal lips. Cherry, as well, had stopped sucking, and lay smiling up at Kay from between my legs.

Tom rose, and came toward us, probably just to say something complimentary, maybe offer a drink. Kay cringed as he approached, cock pointed straight at her, so I spoke softly in her ear. “You know how you like my hard cock inside you just after you come?” She nodded, and reached for me. “There’s one bigger than mine. Probably feel even better. Go for it, my dear.” She caught her breath. After a bit, she nodded.

I took her hand and helped her up, bending her over the table. Motioned Tom over, and him stand behind her, his cock resting between her thighs. Slowly she reached back and took his cock in her shaking hands, rubbing it up and down along her wet lips. I watched as Tom fed it in a bit at a time. I turned my attention to Cherry for a minute, pulling her to her feet and guiding her to a new position on the floor, where we could watch the others. With her lying supine on the floor, I buried my eager head in her ample chest, worrying her nipples to hard red buds. Not a quiet lover, she moaned lustily, and I heard Kay answer. I looked up in time to see Tom thrust into her to the hilt for the first time. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, leaning further forward, her tiny breasts almost touching the coffee table, her eyes unfocussed. I noticed her head was only a few feet from Cherry’s. They moaned in unison as I thrust my tongue into Cherry’s pubic mound, assaulting her clit in a much more brutal manner than I was used to with Kay. She seemed to love it.

As I brutalized Cherry’s cunt, thrusting fingers in and lashing at her clit like a violin, I watched Kay beginning to enjoy the fucking she was getting from Tom. Every thrust would make her grimace, and I wondered at first if he was hurting her, as she had made it clear to me that penetration was much deeper from the rear, and had complained on occasion, if I thrust too deeply before she was sufficiently ready. This guy was much bigger, but she was much more excited than usual. I watched as he pulled almost all the way out, and then plunged back into her. Her eyes fluttered and her mouth twisted, gasping with the force and size of his entrance. Then I saw her hand go down between her legs to cup his testicles, or to play with her clit, and decided she was fine.

Cherry seemed about ready to come, so I punched all four fingers into her, and pressed my thumb onto her clit, and she exploded, wailing my name. Kay looked up, frightened, but Tom seemed oblivious. Clearly she always came loudly.

Kay had stopped moving, and soon Tom, still stuffing that big throbbing thing into her, soon wondered what was up. I rose and went into the bath, coming back with a wet wash cloth, which I handed to Kay. She looked at me a moment, then began to swab Tom’s cock clean. She refused to give head unless the dick was recently washed, and I’d never seen her suck one after it had been inside her. But then, I’d never seen her suck anyone’s except mine. I wanted to see if she could handle this big one.

At my instructions, Tom sat on the floor, and Kay got on all fours in front of him, settling down to suck him off. I put my head between her thighs, swabbed her clean with the washcloth, and began to eat her again. She balked at first; I’d never been able to get her to let me give her head twice in the same night, but it seemed like the thing to do, to get everybody involved. Tonight was a night for firsts apparently, because she relented, and I got a close-up view of my spouse as she deep-throated that big penis, or tried to, anyway. Her throat bulged as she pressed her mouth down upon it, and I saw her eyes widen as she realized there was more to go. Tom seemed to enjoy it.

Cherry settled down to deep-throat me as well, and I gave Kay another tongue lashing. This was a position that wasn’t that hard for me, as Kay and I often did sixty-nine, and we always did it with her on top, since she hated to be trapped underneath. I decided that if she was going to come this way again, I’d have to try something different. Thumbing her clit gently, I licked all the way up and down her crack, and was rewarded by a shiver. I blew on her lips, and she quivered some more. Her eyes closed. Pressing my nose deeply into her sex, I inhaled her scent, and she rubbed herself on my face like a cat, getting off a slow, shuddering orgasm. I heard her shaky breath around Tom’s cock. I continued licking her sex softly, while Cherry mauled my cock, and Kay did not ask me to stop. Her eyes stayed closed as she went down, screwing her mouth down over Tom’s meat; he showed no signs of finishing.

I got an idea, and pulled out from under her long enough to whisper to Cherry. She frowned, then got up and disappeared up the hallway. I slid my fingers slowly inside the folds of Kay’s cunt, massaging that rough spot inside her which always made her hot. She went rigid for minute, then began to move in rhythm with my strokes, her thighs tense, eyes closed. Tom’s cock got separated as he pulled back, and when he thrust again, he struck her in the chin. Without opening her eyes, she wrapped her hand around the shaft and reinserted it into her mouth, keeping her hand between his groin and her mouth, masturbating him as she sucked.

When I’d met her, she didn’t go down, but with me she’d gotten to be quite the accomplished cocksucker over the past few years, and it seemed as though he agreed. As I watched, a runner of saliva and pre-come dripped from her lips onto the floor.

Cherry returned with a large vibrator, and handed it to me, sitting down to watch. On sudden inspiration, I motioned her to lie beside me. Together we slid it inside Kay’s cunt, pressing it into that spot, then softly began fucking her with it. Her breathing picked up, and her body began to undulate with pleasure. Then, suddenly, Cherry’s hand moved to Kay’s clit.

I held my breath.

No reaction. Either she didn’t know it wasn’t mine, or didn’t care. With a mental shrug, I moved softly out from between Kay’s thighs and Cherry slid gently in, replacing her finger with her tongue. Her lips covered the tiny bud of the clitoris, and sucked on it. Kay groaned, but did not open her eyes. Wow. I know it’s as stupid a cliche as they come, but it was hot, watching my ‘wife’ get eaten by another chick.

Moving softly, I took Cherry’s legs in my hands and thrust myself into her cunt. She grunted, but it was muted by Kay’s cunt. She was incredibly tight, considering that she’d given birth three times.

After a few minutes of this, I decided to take a risk. It was not as though the rules had not already been broken; with Cherry going down on Kay; if she was upset by that, there was a good possibility we’d never get her to speak to them again, much less do this. What the hell.

I pulled Cherry’s torso higher, and draped her legs around my neck. Pressing my fingers into her pubic region, I wet my fingers in her juices, and then pressed my thumb into her upturned anus. She gasped and froze for a minute, then resumed half-heartedly licking my spouse’s cunt. Moving my thumb around inside her nether regions, I felt a new spasm in her tense lower body with every new inch of her anal crevice I explored, tracing my cock through the layers of skin and tissue. When my thumb popped out suddenly, she relaxed so suddenly, she actually sagged in my hands. I pulled out of her cunt, and thrust my cock into her bum.

She screamed, and Kay’s eyes flew open, just as she began to come. Seeing Cherry’s head between her legs, she tried to stop fellating Tom, but as he was approaching orgasm, his hands were planted firmly on her head, and he was moving in and out involuntarily. Her head continued to pump up and down, his cock coming to meet it harder and harder, though she was not exactly sucking anymore. In fact, muffled sounds were issuing around his penis, as it thumped its way to explosion in her mouth, aided by the unexpectedness of her teeth grazing his tender skin.

Tom yelled and burst his load in Kay’s mouth, and all over her chin, come squirting out the sides of her mouth, and down over her neck, up into her hair.

Kay’s third orgasm came violently even through the shock of seeing a woman giving her head and wielding that mammoth vibrator that plunged into her cunt. She groaned around Tom’s cock, and went rigid, her jaws straining, catching his cock and breaking the skin. Her groin thrust down, covering Cherry’s screaming face, mashing the back end of the vibrator into Cherry’s cheek.

My cock in her ass, Cherry’s orgasm seemed to surprise even her. I think it was more pain than anything, that orgasm, a spastic twitching affair. Her pussy clamped over my fingers, which I’d thrust into her as I fed my dick into her butt, and she screamed shrilly, though she could barely be heard, her face covered in straining cunt.

My penis, thrusting into the tightest hole I’d ever felt, was crunched even harder by her orgasm, and I came swiftly, hot, overlapping jets boiling out of me into her tight little hole, leaking out and covering her cheeks. Then my cock popped out and spent itself on her pubic mound, throwing sperm up her body, and splashing onto her breasts.

We heard a knock at the door.

She’s the man

…the first time, I only knew she was a white woman, who, it looked like, was going to put out for me. It didn’t happen to me much anymore, white  women flirting with me and then actually putting out. Lots of talk, maybe some eyes batting, some licking of lips, but not usually actual pussy.

And it had been awhile since any white-chick flirtation at all, much less anything this good looking.

So when she signaled she was ready to go down on me, I didn’t ask a whole lot of questions, you know what I’m saying? I sure didn’t stop her and say ‘no, I want to go down on you first!’ or insist on getting my hands in her drawers right away. In fact, I never got to it at all until much later. The head was just that good. I mean, she sucked my dick like it was a candy cane, and she was trying to get to the center of it. It was magic…

…it’s maybe the one thing that marks you in this situation; you have to do things that are seen as slutty or at least sexually aggressive if you’re going to manage to pull this off. You have to be in control, so you go down on him quickly, because the best way to lead a man is to lead him by his dick.

Helps when it’s such a nice dick.  Gorgeous, actually. I like sucking him more than anything I’ve ever done.

Then later, after you’ve made him cum and swallowed it, if he has any brain cells left and any blood left to fill his cock, you can blow his mind again by telling him you really love it in your ass, or maybe just that tonight you’re in the mood for it that way, for some reason. Men rarely turn that down.

Helps when your ass is such a nice one. Gorgeous, actually.

Men like to fuck ass, and while more and more women are getting into it these days, a beautiful woman saying she wants it in the ass is still most men’s idea of dying and going to sex heaven. They will not ask questions for a long time, trust me.

And you do it in the dark a lot, especially at first. Get him very drunk, too, or high is even better. Most men are horny when they’re high… but they’re not real high energy. They lay back and let you blow them without pawing at your pussy; they’re more likely to let you be on top.

Sometimes you say you have a heavy period happening, a UTI, or something like that, something mysterious that men don’t want to know any details about.

You have to be aggressive yes, but you also have to be fluid, quick on your feet. Ready to improvise. And if all else fails, let him see you, and be ready to grab your shoes and run if his reaction is violent…

…all’s I know is she gives the best head I’ve ever had, and fucking her is mind-blowing. I’ve always been an assman; women’s butts just excite the fuck out of me.

So I don’t know if her suddenly also having a cunt would make a big difference; I’d choose her ass or mouth 95 percent of the time anyway.

And maybe doing it, going that last step, would change how the rest feels; it’s possible it could ruin the perfect muscle tone or the perfect chemistry that makes her such a great lay, or such a great cocksucker.  I don’t know. I mean yeah, I’m straight; as far as labels go, I guess that’s accurate. I like fucking this woman, how her lips feel on my dick, how her throat takes me in and milks me, how her ass is always the best thing I’ve ever felt, like a tight new virgin every damn time.

Why would I want to mess with that? Especially if it means cutting her up, putting her in danger. I love her body as it is now, with those great firm, womanly tits, curves, long sexy legs…She’s the sexiest girl I’ve ever touched. This sexy girl just happens to have a dick. It doesn’t have to matter…

…I’m not sure if I’d be the same woman, the same person I am now; if I had surgery, would I change into a woman whose body aches, for whom sex is a chore? It would be nice to have all the parts that would make everyone see me as a woman — well, maybe not everyone. But everyone who didn’t know me before…

But I know natural women who have something minor done and it messes with their sexuality, their identity as a sexual person. And this — this is not minor. It might take away my essence, make me into something ‘other.’ That scares me…

…you know, when I was a boy, my mom’s uncle left his family for a white woman. He told my mom that the woman worshipped him, would do anything for him, was at his beckon call, and that he thought that was proof that he’d made it in the white man’s world, beat him at his own game. To have a white woman who waited on him and sucked his dick whenever he asked. Mom told me that story when I was about 14. She said that it could be true that it showed you’d managed pretty well in the white man’s world when his women were all yours sexually, but she thought that it would more of an accomplishment if you had the white man himself on his knees begging your for your dick. Moms was sort of a vindictive perv, huh?

But I sort of got both of those things, I think.