November 22nd, 2015

Barrie is forty-two years old. Her five-foot-seven-inch frame carries a voluptuous fleshiness that brings to mind a painting by Rubens. She wears her wavy chestnut hair long and loose. The color of her eyes, just a shade darker than her hair, emphasizes the olive of her complexion. Barrie’s husband, Gordon, owns a car dealership, which he inherited from his father. Barrie says that the best sex she ever had was on the day Gordon became the handsome prince of her adolescent dreams.

About four years ago, Gordon and I found the vacation home that we had been searching for. It’s an old stone house in the woods on three hundred acres of land in the heart of Washington’s timber country. It’s only a few hours’ drive from the city where we live, but it feels like another world. As soon as we saw it, we knew it was for us. I liked the seclusion, but I think that what appealed most to Gordon was that the place needed a lot of fixing up. He said

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    A dream cum true

    November 22nd, 2015

    Many people become grouchy if they don’t get enough sleep. Recent experiments indicate, however, that it might not ·be sleep deprivation that makes a person tense the next morning. The real root of the problem may lie in an insufficient opportunity to dream.

    In these experiments, two groups slept under controlled conditions every night for a period of several weeks. The members of one group were interrupted whenever their rapid eye movements, or REM, indicated that they were beginning to dream. Members of the other group were woken up as often, but only when they were not dreaming. As a result, the two groups got approximately the same amount of sleep, but one was permitted to dream and the other was not.

    Those allowed to dream experienced no significant change in attitude or behavior. In a relatively short time, however, those who had been prevented from dreaming began to show signs of tension and irritability. Some developed symptoms of severe mental illness and had to be eliminated from the program. These people recovered shortly after returning to their normal dream patterns.

    The obvious conclusion is that we need to dream. Dreams allow our unconscious minds to give expression to secrets that we hide even from ourselves. When these secrets are happy ones, our dreams are pleasant. When the secrets are not happy ones, we have nightmares.

    The dreams we have while awake are called daydreams or fantasies. Unlike those that come to us in our sleep, they are usually subject to our conscious control. This is why we do not have “daymares”.

    Daydreams are also important. They provide us with escape from a reality that, at times, can seem overpoweringly oppressive. They allow us to be what otherwise we might not ever be able to be. They allow us to do what, otherwise, we might not ever be able to do. In daydreams we can fulfill our most impossible wishes.

    The things we wish for and daydream about are not always impossible, though. Sometimes life surprises us with experiences that we imagined but never really believed could happen. When this occurs, we have the sense of a dream coming true. The people whose stories are told in this chapter had sexual contacts that they had fantasized about without ever expecting to experience. The unanticipated fulfillment of their secret wishes led them to regard their dreams-come-true as the best sex they ever had.

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      Interracial Taboo

      November 22nd, 2015

      Charlotte is recently divorced for the second time. She is five-foot-six, with bright and sparkling blue eyes. In her younger years, she was a high fashion model whose face graced magazines all over the world. The beauty of her features, the shimmering tones in her soft blonde hair, and the well tended firmness of her slender body continue to testify to her illustrious career. In recalling the best sex she ever had, Charlotte goes back more than twenty years to a night in Paris.

      I was born to a wealthy New Orleans family with an old and respected name. Growing up during the forties and fifties, I developed some very strong prejudices. I believed that established families with old money and a heritage that was part of the South’s rich history were really the Lord’s chosen.

      My early education instilled in me the belief that God had created five castes of people. First, there were the privileged class, to which my family belonged. We had been wealthy since the days of slavery, and no one else was our equal. Then there were the nouveau riche with new money that we regarded as less than clean. Below them were the middle-class people. Almost at the bottom were the working-class people, whom we thought of as white trash. And then there were the blacks. It took me a very long time to grow up and stop thinking like a rich little Southern fool.

      Daddy didn’t think that a girl of my position should soil herself with a college education, so he sent me to a finishing school. Although it was an all-girls’ institution, it was closely associated with a prominent military academy located nearby. I had dozens of young men lining up to beg me for dates. Although I never formed any serious attachments, by the time I was twenty I had slept with several of them. It would be false modesty for me to deny that I was pretty.

      Daddy believed that I was pretty enough to be on the cover of a magazine. He always said that a highborn girl shouldn’t have a real occupation, but modeling was different. He arranged an interview with an advertising agency owned by one of his friends. They liked me and introduced me to a modeling agent who managed my career. I never got involved in the frenzied rush from one shoot to another like most models do, but I did work on carefully selected assignments.

      I was only twenty-two when my agent called to say that I was going to Paris to pose for the cover of a major fashion magazine. I was mildly excited. When he added that the photographer would be Maurice Jourdan, however, I was beside myself. I could have gone to Paris any time I wanted, but the opportunity of being photographed by Maurice Jourdari was unique.

      Among the photographic artists of the fashion world, Maurice Jourdan was held in the highest esteem. He was generally recognized as the best in the business. Combined with his rare talent, he had a well-known philosophy.

      Jourdan had gone on record as saying that every woman has her own special quality, which he called her “enigmatic essence.” A photographer, he said, must first. find it. Then he
      must study it. Then and only then could he hope to capture it on film. A Jourdan shoot took longer than most, because he insisted on spending time getting to know his model before he would consider taking her picture. Everyone agreed that it was worth the extra expense, however, just to have Maurice Jourdan’s name associated with the project.

      When I arrived at the Paris hotel, there was a sense of commotion in the air and a general feeling of eagerness. The lobby was filled with people waiting to meet the celebrity. My agent advised me to rest in my suite of rooms .until the fuss settled down.

      When the limo brought Jourdan to the hotel, I wouldn’t have been able to get near him anyway. There were paparazzi all over, cameras flashing everywhere. Writers from fashion magazines published all over the world were pushing through the crowds in hopes of getting an interview with this talented artist of the lens.

      I waited expectantly in my suite for the message that Mr. Jourdan was ready to meet with me in the hotel restaurant. When my agent escorted me into the room, Maurice stood up to greet me. I was shocked. The last thing in the world I expected to see was a black man. The photographer was tall and very slim, with black eyes and hair. His skin was the color of coal. I did my best to maintain my composure as he pulled a chair out for me.

      I was startled when he introduced himself. I never anticipated hearing a black man speak in anything but an uneducated, down-home manner. Jourdan’s exquisite French accent made him sound charming and refined. Nevertheless, I felt very uncomfortable, at first, having a conversation with him over a table in a restaurant.

      According to everything I was brought up to believe, all black men lived with the dream of some day taking a white woman to bed. Every time he looked at me, I was certain that he was undressing me in his mind. As our conversation progressed, however, I realized that this wasn’t so. He was studying me, looking for my enigmatic essence.

      When I spoke, he stared deep into my eyes. At one point, he even reached across the table and lightly touched my cheek with his fingertips. I think it was the first time I ever felt a black man’s hand on me. By now, I had recovered from my initial discomfort enough to realize that his interest was strictly professional. I forced myself to show my good breeding by not drawing back in horror.

      Although our exchange was professional, somewhere inside I realized that there was a streak of sensuality running through it. His voice was soft and seductive, suggestive of clandestine rendezvous in opulent surroundings. In part, his photographic genius came from his genuine love for women.

      Every flash of his eyes and every syllable that rolled off his tongue made this clear. Yet there was nothing crude or improper about his manner. He was frank in his appreciation of femininity and completely honest in saying that he found beauty in every woman.

      I tried hard to concentrate on the job we were there to do, but I couldn’t help daydreaming about sexual intimacies with him. Strange as it was, I found him sexually attractive. Although this was contrary to everything I had been brought up to believe, my upbringing was partially responsible for it.

      From the time I was old enough to know the difference between girls and boys, I was taught that it was taboo for white girls to have anything to do with black boys. I was trained to believe that the only thing any black male ever thought about was having sex with a white female. In a hundred different ways, I learned to think of black men as sexcrazed animals, with lust always on their minds.

      My training made it impossible for me to sit across a table from this black man without thinking about sex. My head was so awash in erotic imagery that I’m afraid I remember very little of what we talked about. I do recall that as we got up from the table, he said, “You are very beautiful, with a lovely essence. I look forward to working with you. We will start shooting tomorrow morning at nine sharp.”

      I spent the following day outdoors, posing in front of sights that· the world associates with Paris. Working with Maurice was incredible. He knew exactly what he wanted from a model and had a special way of getting it. Before I knew it, the day was over and we were riding together back to the hotel. As I got out of the limo, Maurice said, “I’ll let you know when the photos are ready.”

      That evening I was alone in my suite when the phone rang. It was Maurice saying that the pictures were ready and asking whether he could come and show them to me. A few minutes later he was at my door.

      We sat together on the sofa in the sitting room looking at the proofs. They were simply amazing. The face in the pictures was mine, but it managed to convey a personality that seemed foreign to me. The woman standing in front of the Eiffel Tower in a high-fashion gown was the personification of sexuality. Eroticism emanated from every pose. The angle of a shoulder, the tilt of the head, the droop of an eyelid all combined to project a sense of lust and a promise of its fulfillment.

      I was so excited by what I saw that almost half an hour passed before I remembered that I was alone in a hotel suite with a black man. By then it was too late. Maurice had conquered me with his vision of my essence. I couldn’t help but surrender to him when he stroked my hair for a moment and then embraced me. His lips were ·soft against mine. His.exploring fingers thrilled my hungry body.

      Although it violated everything I believed, I knew I wanted him. I wanted to feel him touching me and I wanted to touch him. I wanted to expose my body to the appreciation of his gaze, and I wanted to stare hungrily at his. I sensed his devotion to the erotic and I longed to yield to it. He was a master at lovemaking as he was a master of his art. Every grazing stroke of his fingertips brought me closer to submission.

      Through it all, I was acutely aware that he was black. I can’t say that it no longer mattered. On the contrary, it seemed to make the entire episode even more exciting. Our contact was forbidden, even though it was exquisite. I felt that I was discovering secrets that no other white woman on the face of the earth had ever discovered before.

      In a daze, I let him lead me to the bedroom, where we undressed and fondled each other boldly and freely. Although I had been with other men, no one ever touched me as softly or as sensuously as he did. I had never before reached the heights of pleasure to which he brought me. Every move, every kiss, every stroke was uniquely tailored to my special needs.

      When at last he mounted and entered me, I felt my whole body opening to him. As he filled me with the substance of his masculinity, I wrapped myself around him. I was his. For the moment, he was my master. I presented him with my mind and soul as well as my body. My senses submitted to his will, prepared to obey him absolutely. When his movements demanded my orgasm, I gave it to him. We made love until the sun outside our window began lighting the damp Parisian streets.

      In the morning over room-service coffee, I asked Maurice to tell me what he had found to be my enigmatic essence. He said it was my unceasing sexuality. He said that sex would always be part of everything I did, part of every gesture I made; that eroticism would accompany the movement of my hand when I stirred sugar into my tea and would drive my car when I stepped on the accelerator.

      In the years that followed, I came to fully appreciate how correct Maurice’s judgment had been. He saw something in me that I had never seen in myself. He taught me two important lessons that night.

      The first was the truth about my sensual nature. By showing it to me, he taught me to see the erotic aspect in every human contact. I· learned to banish shame from my existence and to dedicate myself to the fulfillment of my sexual destiny.

      The second lesson was that the real differences in men do not lie in their skin color. I have been married twice and have had many lovers. Maurice was the most perfect sex mate I have ever known. The reason wasn’t just physical. Although he was black, his body was like any other man’s. His penis wasn’t bigger or harder or thicker, as I always imagined a black man’s would be. His l~st wasn’t bestial or base, as I had been taught to expect.

      What made Maurice special was his passion for sex and his genuine love and respect for all women. This made the photos that he took of me the best I’ve ever seen. And it made our sex the best I ever had.

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        Higher Education

        November 22nd, 2015

        Jerry, twenty years old, is just under six feet tall and has the lean sinewy body of a long distance runner. His fair complexion gives him a clean-cut all-American look. He keeps his dusty-blond hair short to decrease wind resistance. Jerry lives to run. He is a star on the track team at a small university. Not long ago, his athletic scholarship was in jeopardy when his grades fell. His piercing blue eyes flash as he tells about how that incident led to the best sex he ever had.

        To me, the most important thing about college is the track team. I know it doesn’t sound very academic, but let’s face it, I’m not really an academic guy. I’ve been a runner ever since I can remember. When I was a little kid, I would run miles and miles for the thrill of it. In high school, I joined the track team just for fun. It never occurred to me that running might pay off in some way.

        By the time I was a junior, I started getting letters from colleges, making me all kinds of offers. I never planned to go to college, but I jumped at the chance to continue running and not have to think about finding a job. Now I’m pretty close to graduating from college and I still haven’t started thinking about a job. Coach says there’s a living to be made in long distance running, but not much of one. My dad says it’s a shame I didn’t pick baseball or basketball or football. Now, that’s where the money is. But I don’t care. Running is my life.

        About a year ago, it started to look like I was going to lose everything. I’ve never been much of a student. Let’s face it, I never wanted to be. I’m no brain. No matter how hard I study, I still come out with lousy grades. Coach always says not to worry about it as long as I maintain the mandatory C grade average. For my first couple of quarters, I did keep a C aver age, even though it was by the skin of my teeth.

        Then I took math to complete my general ed requirements, and that was almost the end of the line. I really tried. I even got a tutor. But I just couldn’t cut it. Oh, I can add and subtract, but when it comes to algebra and geometry, there’s just nothing I can do. It’s like a foreign language to me.

        I flunked it the first time, and they said I’d have to take it again. So I did, but it looked like I was heading for the second F. I knew it was hopeless. The trouble was that all my other grades were borderline, and flunking math again would pull me down below the C average I needed to stay on the team. I went to Coach and told him the problem, but he just said that if I worked a little harder everything would be all right.

        I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then on top of all that, I get this letter from Dean Smith telling me to make an appointment to see her as soon as possible. I was scared shitless that she was going to kick me out.

        When I went to her office, I was real nervous. But she turned out to be a very nice lady. Even though I never met her before, she greeted me like an old friend. “Hi, Jerry,” she said. “You sure have turned our track team around.”

        “Thank you, Dean,” I mumbled. Man, was I uncomfortable about being there.

        “Sit down, please,” she invited, gesturing to one of her guest chairs.

        “Am I in some trouble, ma’am?” I asked, perching nervously in the seat.

        Dean Smith’s warm, feminine laugh made me take a good look at her for the first time. She was maybe fifty years old, but she must really have been a knockout when she was young. For a woman her age, she was still very attractive.

        She had short blond hair and great blue eyes that kind of sparkled when she smiled. The thing I noticed most was her body. She was curvy ·in all the right places, and firm, like she took good care of herself. She had real nice tits and a terrific ass, and wore clothes that showed it. Her tight-fitting skirt hugged those buns, and her low-cut silk blouse showed enough cleavage to be distracting. When I caught myself studying her figure, I quickly looked away. The last thing I needed right then was to piss the dean off.

        “You’re not in trouble yet,” she said. Her voice was kind of husky and sexy. “But you’ve got to pass math. Coach Riley is a good friend of mine. He tells me our track team hasn’t been this good in twenty years, which, for a lot of reasons, is wonderful for the school. The coach says he can’t afford to lose you So I promised I’d try to help you through it.”

        I looked at her in confusion.

        “I used to be a math teacher, you know,” she said with a . trace of pride. “In fact, I was chair of the math department before I became dean.”

        I couldn’t figure out what she was getting at until she held a package of worksheets out to me and said, “I want you to do your best with the problems in Chapter One of this study packet. Then come back to see me on Thursday right after track practice. And bring the problems with you.”

        I couldn’t believe it. The dean was going to tutor me in math. None of my teammates could believe it, either. It just didn’t make sense. Artie, a senior on the team, had a theory. “I’ve heard rumors that the dean likes to screw young jocks,” he said. “Maybe she just wants to get into your pants.” Every body in the locker room laughed and hooted when he said it. The idea was just so ridiculous.

        I worked on the math problems and went back to see her on Thursday as she instructed. Her secretary kept me waiting in the outer office for a minute. Then the dean came to get me herself. She led me to her office and gestured toward the couch, closing the door behind us. “Sit down,” she said.

        She was wearing a dress with a wide skirt and a plunging neckline. When she sat down on the couch beside m~, she crossed her legs carelessly, causing the skirt to ride high enough to give me a long view of her shapely thighs. For a dean, she was one good-looking woman.

        As she slid closer to me, I was aware of the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her leg against mine. “Where are the worksheets I gave you?” she asked. She seemed to be looking into my eyes in a very un-deanlike manner. I got a little flustered.

        “I’ve got them right here,” I answered, patting all my pockets before realizing that I was holding them in my hand. “Uh, right here, I mean.” I spread the papers out in my lap.

        She laughed musically, touching my shoulder lightly. “Don’t be nervous,” she said. “This won’t hurt a bit. Now, let’s see what you’ve got here.” She took one of the sheets from my lap and held it up in front of her face. “Hmmm,” she murmured, studying my work. “This doesn’t look totally hopeless.” She put the worksheet back on my lap, her hand accidentally brushing across my bare thigh. My skin tingled where she had touched me.

        I’ve had some experience with sex. I mean, you know how the girls like athletes. I’ve had my share. But there was something especially sexy about this fifty .. year-old woman. Maybe it was the fact that she was the dean of the college, which made her just about as off-limits as a person can be. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I realized that I was getting a little turned on just sitting next to her on the couch. When she had touched my leg, my cock stirred. I hoped she hadn’t noticed.

        “One mistake you’re making is that you keep inverting the equations,” she said. Or some such bullshit. The truth is I’m not really sure what the hell she was saying, because as she said it, she was pointing to my mistakes on the worksheet resting in my lap.

        Each time she tapped her manicured finger against the paper, I felt an electric shock go straight through to my dick, which was right under it. She kept touching the paper to make her point, and I was starting to get embarrassingly stiff. I wanted to move the worksheet away before I got busted, but if I had, my hard-on would have been obvious.

        Now she started underlining the equations on the worksheet with her fingertip, drawing imaginary circles around the numbers. Although I was sure she didn’t mean to, she was tickling and stroking my cock. It felt good, even though I was dying of fright. It never occurred to me that she was doing it on purpose.

        I noticed that her other hand seemed to be fidgeting with the buttons at the front of her dress, opening and closing them without even seeming to know it. Each time she undid one of the buttons, I got a little glimpse of the smooth white skin of her tittles. I hoped I wasn’t staring, but I just couldn’t look away. When she suddenly took her hand from the buttons, I was sure I’d been busted. Then, to my surprise, she moved her hand to my leg and rested it lightly on my thigh where it was bare below the hem of my shorts.

        I was beginning to wonder whether or not she was conscious of what she was doing. She kept talking about the math problems, but her words were totally meaningless to me. As she droned on, the hand that touched my leg seemed to move slightly. At the same moment, she laid her other hand fiat on the worksheet to emphasize some point she was making. By ·now, my cock was at full erection.

        ”Dean Smith,” I started, thinking I had to find some excuse to break away from there before I got myself in big trouble. She looked right into my eyes. “Yes, Jerry?” she almost cooed. She was openly stroking my leg now, her fingers running lightly up and down the inside of my thigh and stopping every now and then to give it a gentle squeeze. “Do you like the way this feels?”

        I couldn’t say anything, but my cock started pulsating uncontrollably. With a swift movement of her hand, she pushed the worksheets from my lap, exposing the front of my shorts where my boner was straining against it. I thought I heard a soft sigh whisk from her throat.

        “Nice,” she murmured, closing her hand over the fabric. Her other hand slid boldly inside the leg of my shorts, ‘her fingertips creeping closer and closer to the bulge my nuts . made in the jock I was wearing. Involuntarily, I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes.

        I was scared to death, but I couldn’t help surrendering to the wonderful sensations she was giving me with her talented touch. The dean! The dean of the whole fucking college! Here I was on her couch while she rubbed my cock and balls like a horny young co-ed. I didn’t know what to make of it. I decided to just ride with the wave.

        “I’ll bet you’ve got a great big strong young cock,” she whispered. “I want to see it.” Her fingers worked at the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down along with my jock. I helped her a little by lifting my ass off the couch. The next thing I knew,. she tossed them to the floor with the worksheets.

        My cock was free now, standing up like a flagpole. I could feel her hungry eyes devouring it while her hands worked eagerly to make it even harder and stiffer. She circled the shaft · of my pecker lightly with her thumb and fingers, stroking gently up toward the head and down against the hairy jungle at the base. Her other hand cupped and cradled my balls, treating them like valuable jewels.

        She might have been a math teacher and she might have been a dean, but she could have taught a great class in Handjob 101. I’ve had quite a few girls pull my dick, but none with the style and skill of that middle-aged lady. Maybe it comes with experience.

        She seemed to know all the places where a cock was especially sensitive. Those she didn’t already know about, she discovered. Her hands were soft and loving, her fingers gliding over the smooth skin of my shaft. She obviously liked what she was doing. Her eyes were glazed and half closed. A seductive smile played around her lips. Her touch sent chills up my spine. It felt like I died and went to heaven.

        From the comer of my eye, I happened to see her nameplate on the edge of her desk. It reminded me of where I was and who I was with. I knew that I was playing with, but desire had me by the balls, and as always, it was lust over logic. Besides, in a way it was probably the danger of the situation that made it so exciting. Can you imagine what would happen to a bonehead who got caught with his pants down in the dean’s office?

        She continued stroking my cock and balls with one hand, while the other slowly unbuttoned the front of her dress and unhooked her black lace bra. When it opened, her tits popped into view. They were medium .. sized and pointed, with nipples so dark they were practically brown. I wanted to touch them, but I didn’t know if that was allowed. She must have sensed my indecision, because she took my hand in hers and placed it on her tits. Then she went back to rubbing and stroking me.

        When I got those boobs in my hands, I almost forgot whose tits I was feeling. They were as 6.rm as a cheerleader’s. I cupped them and stroked them and rolled the erect nipples between my fingers, making her groan with pleasure.

        All the time, I was praying silently that her door was locked. If it wasn’t, I hoped nobody would hear the sounds she was making and come in to investigate. This was probably the craziest thing I ever did. But all I could think about was how good it felt. Her hands playing with my cock and my fingers twirling her nipples were sending waves of excited pleasure through both of us at the same time. The thought of who she was and where we were doing it was making me even hotter.

        Pressing gently against the back of my head, she pushed my face into the soft flesh of her bosom. At first, I just kept it there, holding her tits against it and inhaling deeply to smell
        the sweet perfume of her cleavage. Grabbing my hair, she moved my face until one of her brown nipples was pressed against my lips. It didn’t take me long to get the point. I started sucking and nibbling it, hearing her moans reverberate against the walls of her office.

        When I had thoroughly mouthed both of her titties, she pulled back and rose to her feet. I looked up in horror, certain that she had finally regained her senses and was about to call the campus police to have me locked up and the key melted down. Instead, she took a few shuffling steps backward toward her desk, keeping her eyes fastened on my throbbing erection.

        Without tearing her glance away from me, she bent forward and reached under the hem of her skirt. For an instant, a fleeting expression of concentration passed across her face. A moment later, she was sliding a wispy pair of black lace panties down over her ankles.

        “Come here, Jerry,” she said in a hoarse, husky whisper. As she spoke, she lifted the skirt of her flowing dress dramatically, exposing the blond curling hair of her bush. I could see pink lips peeking out at me. I remember being surprised to see that a dean’s pussy looked just like anybody else’s. I was terrified. But I was so turned on I thought my cock would explode. The combination of fear and sexual excitement was driving me wild.

        Perching on the edge of her desk, she raised her skirt around her waist and spread her thighs wantonly. ”Come here and fuck me, Jerry,” she said. Her voice was firm and controlled.

        I hesitated for a moment, knowing that once my cock was inside her there would be no turning back. Up until now, we had just been fooling around. She would always be able to tell herself that nothing really happened between us. But if I did what she was demanding, there would be no question about it. Getting fucked leaves no doubts.

        ”Fuck me,” she said again.

        What could I do? It was a command from the dean. I walked slowly toward her, my cock pointing straight at her open pussy. I was nervous, but I wanted her more than I ever wanted any of the girls I had screwed before. With the young girls, it was fun. But with her, it was urgent business.

        The thought of doing it with a woman of her age and experience was super exciting. I guess the best part was that she was the dean and she was spreading her legs for me right there in her office. On the other side of the door, they were running a school. But in here, it was serious sex time. I wanted to say something, but I was afraid of breaking the spell. At last I blurted, “Yes, I want to fuck you.”

        She groaned and beckoned with her hands. When I stood between her legs, she wrapped them around my waist, drawing me toward her. She leaned back on the desk and closed her eyes as I guided my cock into her opening with my fingers. The thrill as I actually felt it slipping inside her was indescribable. It was like the first time I ever got laid. I just couldn’t believe it was actually happening. But the throbbing sensation in my dick was very real.

        I wanted to stretch out the penetration so that each second would be a separate experience for me to remember and gloat over later, but her opening just seemed to swallow me up. Her legs tightened around me as she pulled me all the way into her with a single driving thrust. Her pussy gripped my throbbing cock snugly, holding me prisoner in the velvety depths of her body. I froze for a moment, giving her sex muscles a chance to adjust to my thickness. Then I began to move rhythmically in and out.

        The movements of our bodies were perfectly synchronized, but I can’t take credit for that. Her hips and thighs were choreographing the entire fuck. Her pelvis rocked up and down, controlling the way my cock pleasured her inside. With each rolling motion, her tits bobbed erotically.

        I had to struggle to keep from popping my load right then and there. I wanted to be sure that she came before I did. I concentrated on the possibility that we might get caught any minute, hoping that the fear would slow me down. But all it did was get me hotter. I knew I was going to lose it. I didn’t know what to do.

        Then she started to sob, and I knew that everything was going to be all right. “Oh, you strong young jock,” she moaned. “Oh, fuck me hard with your strong young dick. Oh, give it to me. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh, God, I’m going to come. Oh, yes, I’m going to come.”

        At that moment, she stopped being the dean and turned into a sexy she-animal in heat. I knew that she was going to unload her orgasm, and that freed me to let my own come flow. My moans mingled with her cries as I began to pump my spunk into her pussy. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her head was rolling from side to side, telling me that her climax was upon her. I continued driving into her until there was nothing left in me.

        By the time my cock softened, it was clear that she was satisfied, too. Her legs relaxed their grip on my waist, and then let go all together. I stepped back. She smiled and stood up, buttoning the front of her dress and slipping back into her panties.

        “Thank you, Jerry,” she said. “That was wonderful.” Then the satisfied smile vanished from her face, and she became businesslike once more. “But I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to see each other again.”

        I realized that I was being put back in my place. I guess I felt _better about it that way, too. As I was putting my jock and shorts back on, she said, “I’ll talk to Dr. Hoffman. He’s chair of the math department. I’m sure that he can help you pass your course.”

        I never have seen her again, not even walking around the campus. It’s just as well, of course. I think about her all the time, though, and about that hot fuck we had on the desk in her office. She was better at sex than any girl I ever had before or since. Maybe it was her experience that made every move seem perfectly planned yet spontaneous at the same time. A lot of it had to do with the situation. Students aren’t supposed to fuck the dean, especially in her office, especially on her desk. All of that played a role in making it so different and exciting.

        My dad thought that baseball, football, and basketball were the only sports that would pay off. He’ll never know how wrong he was. There might not be much money in track, but one thing I know for sure: It was my running that got me the best sex I ever had.

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          Fresh out the shower…

          November 22nd, 2015

          Fresh out the shower…

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            Tempting Fate

            November 22nd, 2015

            Sukie, twenty-three, has black hair and hazel eyes. She is of medium height with what television commercials refer to as a “full figure”-fleshy enough to be sexy without being considered fat. Her heavy breasts fill the front of her crisp white nurse’s uniform, but her waist is comparatively trim. Sukie dates but has no steady boyfriend at the moment. When asked to describe her most erotic experience, she recalled a brief encounter that she had one afternoon, saying that the possibility of getting caught made it the best sex she can remember.

            I’ve always been proud of my boobs. They’re big and soft, exactly the kind that most men like. In a way, these tits got me into the situation I’m telling you about. They were the first thing Jim mentioned when he got serious about putting the moves on me. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. I’m not exactly what you’d call conservative, but I don’t usually do things like this. I guess it was about the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done. I suppose I should feel guilty about it, but to tell you the truth, I don’t. Not in the least. It was too exciting. I think the fact that it was so naughty is what made it so exciting. You know what they say, “Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.”

            My curiosity had been ·building for months, and it was really Gayle’s fault. To some extent, the blame is hers. She was so open and so very explicit about her relationship with Jim. She practically bragged about it, telling me all the intimate details of their private sex life. It was “Jim this” and “Jim that” every time I saw her.

            I’m a nurse, you know, and Gayle is, too. She’s about the same age as I am. We work at the same hospital and see each other almost every day. You might say she’s my best friend. That’s one of the things that· makes this all so weird.

            Well, about six months ago, Gayle got involved with Jim. He plays in a local rock-and-roll band. Gayle moved in with him after just a couple of dates. When she told me about it, she said that she wasn’t really in love with him, but that their sex was so great that it was enough for her. She said that he was the best lover she ever had. Oh, I mean she positively raved about him.

            She told me that he co.uld make love to her for hours, giving her one orgasm after another without coming himself and without ever going soft. She said that he had an immense dick and that when he put it in her she felt totally filled. She went into intricate detail, telling me about the positions they used, about the dirty things he whispered in her ear while they were – screwing, about the way he licked her clit, even about how he put the tip of his finger in her ass.

            Every time we had one of those conversations, I found myself getting turned on. One afternoon she spent an entire lunch hour describing the thmgs they had done the night before. By the time she was done, I was horny, I was frustrated, and I felt like I would jump the first guy that came my way. Finally, I ended up going to the ladies’ room and doing myself just to relieve the tension.

            Almost every day, Gayle would tell me pornographic stories about her and Jim. I think she got a kick out of getting me all worked up with her descriptions. She was making me feel envious of her superactive sex life, and I think she knew it. There were times I felt like telling her to keep the details to herself, but I couldn’t really bring myself to say that. The truth is, I guess I liked hearing it as much as she liked telling it.

            When she asked me to come by to meet him one evening, I jumped at the chance. I was dying of curiosity. I couldn’t wait to see her superman With my own eyes. I guess I was expecting some kind of Greek god. Well, he was far from it. Jim turned out to be short and on the slight side, with long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. His eyes were set deep into his face, giving him the look of a thinker. His teeth were a little crooked, but he had an easy smile and an extremely charming manner. When we first met, he greeted me like an old friend, acting as if he’d known me all his life.

            By the flirtatious expression he wore and the intimate way he touched my hand or shoulder as he spoke to me, I could tell that he was really into sex. I couldn’t help liking him right from the start. Through it all, there· was an undercurrent of sexual curiosity. Every time I looked at him, I imagined all the things Gayle told me about him. When he moved, his jeans drew tight across his crotch, and I remembered what Gayle had said about the size of his dick.

            It was obvious that he liked talking about sex. No matter what the topic of conversation was, Jim managed to connect it to something erotic. When I said that I needed to go on a diet, he looked directly at my boobs and said, “Just be careful not to lose any weight in those gorgeous tits of yours.” When I said something about the food Gayle was serving, he said, “Food isn’t the only thing worth eating.” He even managed to make his smile appear lewd and suggestive, something about the way he raised one bushy eyebrow and licked his lips with
            the darting tip of his tongue.

            After Gayle had been living with him for a while, I started dropping in regularly to join them for dinner or to watch a show with them on TV. Jim always flirted with me, but in a way that wasn’t threatening or annoying. Actually, I liked it. It made me feel attractive. Gayle didn’t seem to mind at all. I think she was proud of the fact that she had such a sexy boyfriend. As long as he didn’t actually fool around, she didn’t object to a little flirtation.

            One Saturday, I was working at the hospital when I got a call from Gayle. She had the day off. “Why don’t you come over for lunch?” she said. “We’re only a couple of blocks away, and you can probably stretch your lunch hour to ninety minutes. If you call me just before you leave, I’ll have everything ready.”

            She was right about my being able to steal a little extra time for lunch. It was Saturday, and I knew no one would notice. “Sure,” I said. “Sounds good to me.” I swear it was all perfectly innocent. I had no idea of what was about to happen. None at all.

            I phoned Gayle at about one o’clock to say that I was on my way. I briefed the other nurses about my problem patients so that everything would be taken care of while I was out. Then I headed for Gayle and Jim’s.

            When I knocked on the door, Jim answered it. ”Hi, sexy,” he said, squashing my tits against his chest as he grabbed me in a warm bear hug. “Did you see Gayle when you were coming in?”

            “No,” I answered. “Where is she?”

            “She had to go to the hospital,” he said. “Nursing supervisor called her. Some kind of emergency. She said she’d be back real soon, though.”

            “That’s a fine thing,” I joked. “She invites me over for lunch and then runs out on me. Now I suppose I’ll starve.” “Worry not,” he answered, his eyes taking on that flirtatious twinkle. “I’ve got something you can eat.” With both hands, he framed the snug crotch of his jeans, pulling the worn fabric tight against his bulge.

            When he did that, I couldn’t help picturing his genitals. It wasn’t my fault; it was Gayle’s. She was always telling me that he had the biggest dick in the world. It was only natural for me to fantasize about it. Just because we see lots of them, don’t think that nurses aren’t interested in men’s sex organs. We’re human too, you know.

            I felt the involuntary sexual thoughts reddening my face. It was embarrassing, especially because I knew that it revealed what I was thinking. I wanted to turn away but couldn’t do so gracefully.

            Jim noticed, of course. “Are you getting turned on?” he asked with a grin. “Don’t try to deny it. I can see those nipple hard-ons right through your uniform. You’ve got gorgeous tits; anyone can see that. I’ll bet your nipples are something else. Do you know how many hours I’ve spent imagining what it would be like to touch them?”

            I didn’t know what to say. I just felt my ears getting hotter and hotter. My nipples responded to his words, becoming so hard with excitement that they ached.

            He took a step closer. “Why don’t you show them to me,” he said. “Just one little look, that’s all. Now that won’t do any harm, will it?” As he spoke, he placed his hand on my shoulder. With a slowness that was almost painful, he trailed slowly downward until he was caressing one of my breasts through the white fabric. His touch was so light and soft that for a moment I wasn’t sure he was making any contact at all. But when he traced a little circle around my erect nipple with his fingertip, there was no doubt about it. “Just one little look,” he repeated in a soft whisper.

            Without waiting for my answer, he deftly undid two of my buttons. I just stood there letting him. I was actually trembling, like a girl getting felt up for the first time. I can’t remember a man’s touch ever feeling that good before. My inaction increased his confidence, and he opened another button, exposing the laciness of my plunge bra. I was too nervous to look down, but I knew that the fullness of my breasts overflowed the demicups, creating a deep and sensuous cleavage. I could almost feel the weight of his gaze as he stared at my bosom.

            “Magnificent,” he murmured, opening the rest of my buttons. Without a word, I stepped out of the dress, standing before him in bra and half-slip. He had me out of the slip so fast that I still don’t know how he accomplished it. My bra and panties were brief and white, made of lace to match the bands at the tops of the thigh-high stockings that I wore instead of pantyhose.

            He took a step back and examined me for a long time with his eyes. His study was slow, patient, and unashamed. The way he looked at each part of me, nodding his head and murmuring with approval, made me feel like the most desirable woman on earth. He even walked around me in a slow circle, caressing me with the frankness of his gaze.

            When he finally reached for the snap of my bra, I was so aroused that I would have done anything he wanted. He asked nothing of me, so I just stood there letting him enjoy me with his eyes and fingertips. He removed the bra lovingly, stroking my back and shoulders .with hands that were hungry but unhurried. My pebble-hard nipples craved his seductive touch, but it seemed like forever before he got to them.

            First he traced the outer curves of my breasts, bringing tingling gooseflesh to my white skin. Then he ran his fingertips lightly over my abdomen, coming close to the bottoms of my boobs but not actually touching them. Finally, he cupped my breasts gently, holding one in each of his strong hands but not squeezing or abusing them. I could feel my legs beginning to shake.

            Somewhere inside, I realized that he was my best friend’s boyfriend and that she might return to catch us at any minute. But instead of making me want to quit, that thought only made me more excited. I kept telling myself, “Just one more minute. Just one more minute.”

            At last, Jim took my nipples between his thumbs and fore-fingers, rolling them lightly to increase their erection. I was tingling from head to toe as he thrilled me with his erotic expertise. “I’ve been wanting to hold them for so long,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear.

            I could feel the crotch of my panties become wet as I thought of his dick. I wanted to see it but was powerless to do anything other. than submit to his skill. His thumbs hooked the waistband of my white lace briefs, lowering them just the slightest fraction of an inch. Although they still covered me, I felt as naked as Eve. I wanted him to see all of me. I wanted to show him my most intimate parts, to give him access to my most secret places.

            A millimeter at a time, he lowered the undergarment, caressing my hips with his fingers as he did so. Now a narrow band of curling black hair was showing above the elastic. Now the entire expanse of my mound was uncovered. Finally, nothing but the damp crotch of the lacy wisp remained in contact with my body, connected to me by the wetness that made it cling to my vaginal membranes. A moment later, I was naked except for my stockings.

            He took me into his arms again, his hands roaming freely over my nude body. I felt him exploring the dark crevice that separated my buttocks and slipping the tip of his finger between the lips of my vulva. My heart was beating a mile a minute.

            I reached clumsily for his bulge but couldn’t get my hand between our bodies. Sensing my desire, he stepped back. “Here,” he said, undoing the buttons of his fly. “I’ll make it easier for you.” Opening his jeans, he shoved them down over his narrow hips and stepped out of them. He wore no underwear, and his massive dick sprang forward unfettered. I’ve never seen a bigger one. It was huge, every bit as big as Gayle told me it was.

            At the sudden memory of Gayle, I became frightened. She could be back at any minute. What was I doing with her boyfriend, naked and staring at his cock? I knew I should get dressed and get out of there. But I knew that I couldn’t. There was just no way.

            I reached out to take that mammoth tool in my hand, feeling its warmth with my fingers. It was throbbing, like a creature with its own. heartbeat. Shuddering involuntarily with pleasure at the thought, I imagined how it would feel to have such a large cock inside me.

            “Come with me,” he said softly. “I want to fuck you. Now. Before Gayle gets back.” With one hand, he scooped up the clothes that lay strewn about the floor. With the other, he took my elbow and directed me toward the bedroom. Without thinking, guided only by my sexual appetite, I let him lead me where he would.

            The bed was unmade, and I imagined Jim and Gayle fucking on it only a few hours earlier. The mental picture excited me even more. Perversely, I wanted him to screw me in the same place he screwed her. I was terrified that Gayle would walk in on us, but somehow the possibility of that excited me, too.

            Wordlessly, he led me to the bed and eased me down onto my back. I looked at him, waiting to see what he would do next. I felt totally submissive, completely at his command. He stood there for a moment, looking hungrily at me and stroking his gigantic erection with his hand. “We don’t have much time,” he said.

            Then, almost before I realized what was happening, he was on the bed, poised on his knees between my parted thighs. There was nothing between his cock and my pussy but air, and not much of that. He moved closer, until he was touching my labia with his dick. Holding the organ in his hand, he moved it up and down wetting it thoroughly with the oozing juices of my desire.

            “I’m going to fuck you now,” he said. “And I won’t stop until you come.” He moved forward, inserting the head of his hard-on in my vulva. “Do you understand?”

            I nodded dumbly, feeling his huge cock sliding in and in and in. When I thought my pussy wouldn’t take any more, he slid it in even farther. The hugeness of it filled me. At last I felt the hardness of his pubis bumping against my mound and I knew that he was buried completely.

            The knowledge that I was fucking Jim in Gayle’s bed filled me with a sense of danger. But his promise to make me come pushed all other thoughts out of my mind. I wanted it. That was all I knew. I wanted it bad.

            He moved as if we had all the time in the world, sliding his cock almost all the way out of me before reversing direction to push it in again. Its thickness had my vaginal membranes stretched as far as they could go, but the tightness of the fit increased the friction, making the pleasure of his thrusts even more intense. When he sank to the depths inside my vagina, I could feel the hairs of his scrotum caressing the skin of my ass. I rocked up against him, crying out involuntarily as the pleasure overwhelmed me.

            He increased the tempo of his movements slightly, knowing instinctively what it took to please me. Each time he drove inside, his almost hairless chest brushed the tips of my erect nipples, sending tingling bolts of energy from my breasts to the heart of my pussy.

            He was fucking me steadily now, without stopping between strokes. It was impossible to tell where the out stroke ended and the instroke began. It seemed to go on forever. His ability to keep up the steady pace without slowing and without reaching his o\vn peak made him the perfect sex partner.

            I groaned as I felt my climax approaching. I knew that once it started I would be helpless. I knew that for an erotic eternity the orgasm would dminate my spirit, that all thought would be banished. The fear that Gayle might walk in at any moment was still present, but it was not an effective force in directing my behavior. I felt like a single unitary sex organ, doing what I had been created to do.

            Unaware that anything existed except the ecstasy of sensation, I sobbed as the waves of release began to break. Through it all, Jim kept up the steady pounding of his dick inside my body. He drove it in and out in perfect harmony with the melody played by the bliss of my wanton orgasm. For that long interminable moment, I felt it would never end. Then I reached the peak and began the long slide back to reality.

            The falling action was almost complete when I heard a sound that made my blood freeze in my veins. It was the unmistakable scraping of a key being fitted into a lock. Jim heard it, too.

            “Gayle’s home,” he whispered. “Have you had enough?” Even now, he continued stroking my core with his erection. “Did I keep my promise?”

            “Oh, God, yes,” I answered, choking with panic. “I don’t want her to catch us. Oh, please.”

            Calmly, showing no real sign of fear, Jim rolled off me and rose to his feet. Almost a~ if it were an everyday experience for him, he quickly and efficiently gathered my clothes and presented them to me, pointing me toward the bathroom. As I ran, I saw him step casually into his jeans and button the front.

            Through the bathroom door, I heard him greeting Gayle warmly in the same sexy tone he had used while undressing me. I rushed into my clothes and flushed the toilet. When I came out, Gayle and Jim were locked in a passionate embrace that made it obvious that they would be fucking just minutes after I left. The thought that his cock would still be covered with my juices gave me a kind of perverse pleasure that I still don’t understand.

            Looking at niy watch, I said, “Well, Gayle, my lunch hour’s over and I’ve got to head back. Thanks for lunch.”

            “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll have to make it up to you.”

            “That won’t be necessary,” I answered, looking right into Jim’s twinkling eyes. “I’m not really complaining.”

            I thought I saw him smile, but Gayle didn’t even seem to hear me. She wasn’t paying attention to me, clearly eager to get her boyfriend into bed . as soon as possible. I accommodated her by leaving at once.

            I’m still friendly with Gayle and I still go to their apartment wouldn’t want to do anything to interfere with their relationship, even though I am a little envious. I’ll never forget that afternoon, though, when my best friend’s boyfriend gave me the best sex I ever had.all the time, but I never did it with Jim again I wouldn’t want to do anything to interfere with their relationship, even though I am a little envious. I’ll never forget that afternoon, though, when my best friend’s boyfriend gave me the best sex I ever had.

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              I’ve seen Lamprey’s with weaker suction

              November 22nd, 2015

              I’ve seen Lamprey’s with weaker suction

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                drea2604: Although I already posted a TT pic today…. for those…

                November 22nd, 2015


                Although I already posted a TT pic today…. for those of you who keep asking and like my boobs … here’s another one :) 

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                  For N

                  November 22nd, 2015

                  For N

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                    exhibsatxgirl: sweetornasty: NICOLE 45 Wow!  Words don’t…

                    November 21st, 2015


                    NICOLE 45

                    Wow!  Words don’t express the joy brought to Nicole and I when we come across her pictures that someone else has taken the time to modify into something original and share online.  This is especially nice when the picture is our favorite genre of dressed and nude exposure.  mmmm Thanks so much!  We love it!  K&N


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