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THE SWEET TORMENT OF ANTICIPATION

Monday, September 25th, 2017

Christmas begins long before December 25. The excitement starts some time around Thanksgiving, when stores begin putting out their Christmas displays. A day or two later, carols can· be heard in office-building elevators. Soon the nights are illuminated by flashing lights, and families take drives to sections of town where the holiday decorations are particularly elaborate. Well in advance of the big day, we match people to gifts, compiling written or mental lists. We go to malls or out-of the-way shops, where we finger the merchandise while imagining reactions to the purchases we are considering. By December 24, when the wrapped packages find their way under a tree, the excitement has been building for weeks.

To some, Christmas Eve is interminable and its excitement overwhelming. They try to stay awake long enough to catch Santa dropping in with his bag full of goodies. Others feign sophisticated amusement at their antics but watch the clock’s apparently frozen minute hand in unbearable agony. Imagine how much less fun it would be if we just popped into some government office on Christmas Day for our allotment of presents. Some may complain about waiting, and women may gripe about shopping, but few of us would be willing to give up those torments. If all the preparation was eliminated, inost of the excitement would go with it. No matter how painful it may seem, anticipation has a way of heightening pleasure. The time spent trying to guess what’s in a certain package or envisioning the receiver’s response to it helps increase the joy of giving and receiving. When the exchange actually occurs, everyone’s excitement is so intensified that the wrappings seem more colorful and the ribbons all look brighter.

Some people have discovered that anticipation has the same effect on sexual experience. The hours or days that they spend planning and thinking about an impending erotic encounter become part of that encounter, stretching its pleasure out over an extended period. When the day or night of passion finally arrives, they feel every touch more acutely, they savor every scent or flavor more appreciatively. The couples in this blog made the best of involuntary separations by indulging in the sweet torment of anticipation, saying that it led to the best sex they ever had.

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    AWAKENING

    Saturday, September 16th, 2017

    I’m all grown up now and I’ve learned a thing or two. But when I got married at the age of twenty-two, I was like a child, as naive and innocent as they come. It’s hard ·to believe that anyone could have lived through the liberated seventies without being exposed to sex, but I did. The problem was that there was no room in my upbringing for anything but religion. My mother says she had a rosary in her hand at the moment of my birth. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was holding it at the moment of my conception, too.

    I went to college, but I came out of it without knowing any more about life than I knew when I went in. I got my whole education from nuns and priests. At one point, I even thought I wanted to be a nun. I met Philip when I was twenty-two. He was thirty-seven. Like me, he was Catholic, but he wasn’t at all religious. His wife had been killed in an automobile accident. About two years after her death, he started dating. By the time I met him, there were lots of women in his life. He had even lived with some of them for a while. It’s always been hard for me to understand why he was interested in me.

    Philip says that my youth and innocence were what appealed ‘to him in the first place. He had never met a girl like me; my virginity was a novelty. Now he claims that he knew all along that a sexual tiger hiding somewhere inside my pristine exterior was just waiting to be released. During the first year of our marriage, though, he must have developed some pretty serious doubts.

    Prior to our wedding night, I had absolutely no sexual experience. Philip knew that, of course. What he didn’t know was that I never even had sexual thoughts. I didn’t think of sex as distasteful; I didn’t think of it at all. I knew how babies were made, but that didn’t seem to have anything to do with me. Philip believed that he would introduce me to sex on our honeymoon, and I would blossom. He assumed that I would immediately find it as wonderful as he did. But that wasn’t.the way it happened. When I was faced with it, I discovered that sex frightened me. I was so inhibited that I wouldn’t even let him see me with my clothes off. On our wedding night, I insisted on undressing in the bathroom and coming to bed in a long, shapeless nightgown.

    had been taught that it was my duty to satisfy my husband’s sexual needs, and I was determined to fulfill that obligation. I actually thought I was doing so by lying on my back, pulling my nightgown up to my waist, closing my eyes tight, and spreading my legs. I drew away when he touched my breasts because I couldn’t understand what that had to do with his sexual needs. I think I held my breath while he thrust frantically inside me. I don’t remember feeling any pain. I don’t remember feeling much of anything. Philip was patient. He was sure that within a short time I would lose my fears and inhibitions. But whenever he tried to make love to me, I lay stiff and tense beneath him, hoping that he would finish quickly. He didn’t complain about it at first, but after several months he began to show his discontent. By the time a year had passed, he was regularly calling me frigid. Vaguely, I believed it was true, that I just wasn’t built to enjoy sex.

    One night, in a desperate effort to arouse me, Philip purchased a porno movie and insisted that I watch it with him. We sat together in our bed. When the opening credits flashed across the screen, I was a little curious about what I would be seeing. But when a couple appeared and removed their clothes, I became uncomfortable. When they started fondling each other’s genitals, I was so embarrassed that I begged Philip to shut it off. He got very angry and refused, complaining that I wasn’t even willing to give it a chance. To embarrass me further, he started rubbing himself. He said that he could give himself a better time than I ever gave him. Humiliated, I ran from the room and sat weeping on the living room couch waiting for the movie to end. I fell asleep before it did.

    When I woke up the next morning, Philip was still angry. Without saying a word to me, he slammed the door behind him as he left for work. I remained on the couch for a while, thinking. I was starting to realize that I had not been fulfilling my duties as a wife, that allowing my husband to stick his penis into me a few nights a week was not enough to satisfy his sexual needs. Something in my girlhood training had been deficient. Mother taught me to cook and do laundry. In school, I learned how to add a column of figures so I could shop intelligently. But nothing had prepared me for sex. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t understand what Philip could get out of watching a dirty movie, or why my refusal to watch it made him angry. Perhaps I would understand better if I saw what it was about. Going into the bedroom, I found the memory card on Philip’s nightstand. With trembling fingers, I inserted it into the ipad and sat down on the bed to watch it. When the couple on the screen began removing their clothes, I forced myself to look. It was a little easier now that I was alone. I tried to watch objectively as the woman undressed, even admiring the shape of her body as she revealed it for the camera. When the man began removing his clothes, I gazed in frank curiosity at his physique. In his brief underwear, he was muscular and attractive. When he was nude, and the camera moved in for a close-up, even his penis looked handsome.

    I stared in silent fascination as he and the woman embraced and stroked each other. I could see that they were getting ready to have intercourse. But she didn’t just lie back and spread her legs. She held his penis in her hand, petting it lovingly with a look of obvious pleasure on her face. I had never touched Philip there. Watching the woman on the screen made me wonder if maybe it would feel good to do that. She certainly was enjoying it. I was hypnotized by the movements of her body, too. When I submitted to Philip’s thrusting, I kept perfectly still. But the woman on the screen almost seemed to be dancing. Not only that, she appeared to be the aggressive partner. Placing her hand on the man’s chest, she pushed him back against the bed and mounted him.

    I looked on, dumbfounded, as she straddled him and used her fingers to guide his erection into her opening. Once it was inside, her hips started pumping rhythmically, matching his undulating movements with her own. His hands reached up to squeeze her breasts, and this seemed to increase her enjoyment. She moaned loudly as their bodies ground together. Philip sometimes made sounds like that when we were having intercourse, but I never did.

    By the time the couple on the screen finished making love, there was a strange kind of tingling in my loins and breasts. I was sorry to see the scene end, but another began immediately. This time there was a woman alone. She was lying naked on her back with her legs spread wide, shamelessly displaying herself to the camera. While I watched in shock, she began caressing herself with her hands. When she stroked her breasts, her nipples .became enlarged and hard. Sometimes mine did that too, all on their own. Whenever it happened, I experienced a weird tingle. I wondered whether she felt that same sensation. Astonishingly, the things I was seeing were making me aroused. Since I had never known that feeling before, I was frightened by it. But to make sure the human race would survive, God must have made sexual excitement stronger than fear, even for a Catholic girl.

    At that moment my nipples were so hard that they were actually aching. Curious, I pulled my nightgown off over my head and stared down, comparing my erect buds with those of the woman on the screen. Only half aware of what I was doing, I began stroking my breasts the way she was stroking hers. When she started touching her genitals, I imitated those movements, too. I discovered that I could produce sensations that I never even knew existed. Before the movie ended, I had masturbated for the first time and experienced my first orgasm. It was the most wonderful experience I’d ever had in my life. Although I felt guilty, I couldn’t help trying it again. The second orgasm was even more powerful than the first.

    After that, I masturbated every day while watching portions of the porno movie. I progressed beyond imitation, devising my own techniques for self-gratification. I had orgasms consistently and discovered hidden erotic secrets about myself. Sometimes I wished that Philip could see me this way, that I could perform wantonly for him to demonstrate that I was capable of satisfying his sexual needs. But I was still too inhibited to share my discoveries with Philip. I simply couldn’t imagine doing things like that while anyone, even my husband, was in the same room watching.

    Anyway, he didn’t show any sexual interest in me at all for weeks after the incident. When I tried to kiss him, he pushed me away, a look of frustrated disgust on his face. “What’s the point?” he would mutter. Now that I had found sexual pleasure, I feared that it might be too late. My husband was no longer aroused by me. He didn’t reach for me at night anymore or attempt to make love to me. I worried that he might never want to again. Then one afternoon, I got a crazy idea. Watching a woman masturbate on camera had awakened my interest in sex. Maybe it could restore my husband’s. Maybe Philip would be interested in me again if he saw a tape of me doing the things I had learned to do. The thought of it made me breathless. My inhibitions were beginning to melt.

    I got the videocamera from Philip’s closet and set it on the tripod, pointing it at the bed. Then I lay on the covers and began performing for the camera’s eye. At first I felt somewhat awkward and clumsy. After a while, though, the thought of what I was doing added to the pleasure I was giving myself. My excitement overcame my embarrassment. Afterward, I played back the tape I had made. Watching it aroused me all over again. My blood pounding, I tried to imagine how it would affect Philip. That evening, I didn’t say anything to him about it until he started getting ready for bed. Then, I hit the PLAY button and left the room.

    Nervously, I sat in the living room, knowing that he was watching me do the most private and secret things a woman can do. The idea made me anxious and excited at the same time. After what seemed like an eternity, Philip came into the room. He was naked and there was a gleam in his eye that I had never noticed before. “Sonia,” he said, “I never saw anything so sexy in my life.”

    For the first time, I stared openly at his erection. It was beautiful. How could I have gone so long without wanting to touch it? I reached toward him as he crossed the room. My excitement had been building ever since the day I first watched a couple make love on the television screen. While my husband had been in the other room watching me perform lewdly for him, the excitement had increased. I was ready for him at last. When he stood before me, I stroked his manhood. I wanted him. I ached to feel his hands on me. I longed to guide his penis into my opening with my fingers, as I had seen the woman in the movie do with her lover. I even thought about kissing it. That night, we made love on the couch and then on the living room floor before finding our way into the bedroom to do it again. I rose to heights I never imagined existed and had an orgasm every time. I wasn’t skillful and I wasn’t experienced, but I was willing. My inhibitions were leaving me forever, replaced by the discovery that sex with someone you love is a beautiful gift from God.

    Since then I’ve learned a lot about the art of making love. Philip has learned a few things, too. I guess you might say that we both learn something new every time we lie in each other’s arms. The night when I showed Philip my intimate video was a turning point. Over the years, our sex keeps getting better and better. Like vintage wine, it can only improve with age. But I guess the best sex is yet to come.

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      Tempting Fate

      Wednesday, September 13th, 2017

      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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        Interracial Taboo

        Saturday, August 26th, 2017

        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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          STRIPPING FOR ACTION

          Wednesday, August 23rd, 2017

          Marika, twenty seven, is a candidate for a Ph.D. in mathematics at one of America’s finest universities. She looks more like a model than a mathematician, however, with a tall, shapely body and striking blond hair that hangs, soft and straight, almost to her waist. Her seductive hazel eyes gleam against the background of her creamy skin. Marika says that her best sex happened when she acted out one of her favorite fantasies soon after her husband, Alex, returned from a business trip.

          Alex had been away at an engineering conference, and we hadn’t seen each other for almost a week. As soon as he got home, I dragged him into the bedroom and jumped on his bones. Our lovemaking was hot and fast, both of us consumed by the need to satisfy our unfulfilled desires. Afterward, we lay together for the entire evening, talking and petting and making up for lost time. Alex told me that the conference had consisted of a series of meetings and seminars that lasted from early morning right up until dinner every day. When I asked what he did after dinner, a mischievous smile crossed his face. “Well,” he answered impishly. ”One night I went to a strip show with some of the other guys. It was a hot one, too.” I was fascinated. I never admitted this to anyone before, but ever since I was a teenager, I fantasized about being a stripper in a nightclub filled with men. I guess being the center of erotic attention appeals to me. I remember, even as a young girl, I would love to walk on the beach in my teeniest bikini and feel the hungry stares of men trying to catch glimpses of my barely covered breasts or bottom.

          For me, the thought of stripping onstage is the ultimate tum-on. All eyes would be on me, concentrating on every sensuous movement of my body. Nowadays I suppose such thoughts are regarded as un-feminist, but the idea of having a group of strange men get excited by watching me take off my clothes arouses me tremendously. It would make me feel like the sexiest woman in the world. No fantasy inflames me more than that one. I wanted to hear more about Alex’s night at the strip show. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” I prompted. “What was it like? Give me all the explicit details.” Alex seemed nervous for a moment. “You’re not jealous or anything, are you?” he asked solicitously. “Heck, no,” I said, my voice husky with excited curiosity. “I think it’s sexy.”

          With a sigh of relief, he began. “Well, the place was called the Hot Box and it wasn’t really much. It had a small stage surrounded by mirrors, and lots of little tables with chairs. My group was lucky enough to get one of the tables up front, right next to the stage.” “You mean lucky because that gave. you a better view?” I asked. “Well, sure,” he said. “But the best part is that if a guy seated up front puts a tip on the table, the girl makes it part of her act to come up and do something special just for him. Like shaking her boobs in his face or something.” “Tell me about the girls,” I asked. “How old were they? Were any of them my age?” “Oh yeah,” he answered, his eyes gleaming with remembered lust. “They ranged from their early twenties to early thirties, I’d say. And every one of them was good-looking. Some tall, some short, some with cute little titties, some with big bouncers. But all with great shapes.” My curiosity was increasing. “What did they do?” I asked breathlessly.

          “When they’re not dancing, they wait on tables, wearing real skimpy outfits,” he explained. “Mostly just bras and panties. Then, when it’s their turn to dance, they step into a little room to get ready, and they come out onstage.” “Do they wear striptease costumes?” I asked. “With feathers and stuff like that?” ‘ “Most just wear regular clothes,” Alex answered. “But real sexy. Like maybe a short denim skirt and bikini top. Usually each girl dances to three records. By the end of the first record, she’s got all her clothes off except her underwear. They all wear little G-string panties and lacy bras.” I was becoming very aroused, picturing myself doing the things my husband was describing. I wanted to hear more, but I was afraid my voice would shake with excitement if I spoke. So I waited patiently for him to tell it in his own time.

          “During the second record, the girl removes her bra and dances around showing off her bare breasts. I always like that part. Then, just before the record ends, she takes off her panties. At this.point, the guys usually go wild, whistling and howling when she exposes her pussy. Lots of the men throw dollar bills on the stage. One of the girls had her· pubic hair shaved into the shape of a heart. The guys must have tossed thirty or forty bucks at her when she took off her panties and showed that bush to them.” I felt like a spectator at a porno show. “When the third record plays,” he continued, “she dances and gyrates totally nude. During the dance, she’ll lie on the floor and spread her legs wide to give everybody a good view of her open beaver. Or she’ll lie back and throw her legs over her shoulders so they can see her ass, too.” I could see it in my mind as Alex talked about it. I would be naked while a hundred men cheered and threw money at me. In gratitude, I would open my thighs to reveal my most private places to them. I was getting hotter by the minute. “There was one girl in particular,” he went on. “She had big beautiful tits and thick cherry nipples. One of the boys in my group fell in love with her. He kept putting dollar bills on the table for her to come and pick up. Each time she did, she would get real close to him. Once, she put her foot up on the table so that her pussy was right in front of his face. He almost fell off his chair.

          ”After that, he laid a ten-dollar bill on the table. When she came over to get that one, she pressed her tits against his face for a long time. First she buried him in the valley between them. Then she shook slowly from side to side so that her nipples brushed across his nose and lips. Later that night, he went home with her.” “Really?” I asked, incredulous and captivated. “Are the girls hookers?” “No,” he answered. “I think it’s really unusual for one of them to go out with a customer. It might even be illegal. She just must have really liked him. It was the last night, so I didn’t get to talk to him and find out what happened. But I’m sure they spent the night screwing.”

          For a moment he fell wistfully silent. Then, in a soft voice, he mused, “You know, I’ve always fantasized about going home with one of those girls after the show. Not that I’d ever do it,” he added hastily, as though fearful that I might need reassuring. “But I guess every man in the place imagines the same thing. After she dances for all the guys who paid the price of admission, she goes home and strips privately for me. I’m sure that in bed they’re. just like any other woman, but somehow there’s a special sexy mystique about a stripper.”

          He was silent for a moment, and then asked, “Does my little fantasy upset you?” “No,” I said in a sultry voice. “You’re not the only one who has fantasies. Sometimes I imagine myself taking my clothes off and dancing nude in front of a group of men.” Our conversation was making me horny-so horny that I couldn’t talk anymore. I just wanted to make love again. Shutting the light, I climbed on top of him. His penis was long and stiff, slipping easily into my lubricated vagina. Afterward, we both drifted off into a peaceful, satisfied sleep. Alex left for work the next morning while I was still sleeping. I must have been dreaming about the things we discussed. The first thought I had when I woke up was a way to act out the fantasy that Alex and I had secretly shared.

          By the time he came home from work, I was ready for him. I had set up a small table in the living room with a kitchen chair beside it. I greeted him at the door wearing cut-off jeans that showed the globes of my ass and a tank T-shirt that was two sizes too small for me. “Welcome to the Hot Box,” I said, holding the door for him. “Right this way. Your table is waiting.” . Alex looked my body up and down as I led him to the table. I loved the expression he wore. It was not that of a man looking at his wife. He stared at me, bewildered, as I placed a glass before him and poured beer from a bottle. Setting the bottle beside the glass, I said, “I’ll collect for it later. It’s my turn to dance.”

          Flipping a switch on the stereo, I began playing records that I had selected earlier that day. When Rod Stewart started singing “Hot legs, you’re wearing me out,” I went into my dance. At first a little embarrassed, I danced with my eyes closed. But as I began to imagine that I was being watched by a roomful of men, my embarrassment changed to excitement. I could feel my nipples getting hard under my clothes. I opened my eyes and looked directly at Alex. He was staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. Pulling the tank top over my head, I removed it seductively. Alex hooted, making a catcall sound in a high raucous voice. “Yeah,” he hollered. “Will you guys look at that!” He seemed to know what I was thinking. Tossing the tank aside, I pictured a roomful of little tables, each with a cluster of horny men sitting around it. They were all admiring my body as I pranced around the room, arching my back to make the flesh of my breasts overflow the cups of my bra. I bumped and grinded with my hips, caressing my own body lightly, running my hands over my bare belly and waist, stroking the bulging fabric of my bra with my palms, pinching my nipples where they tented the lacy material that barely covered them.

          When my fingers undid the button at the top of my cutoffs, Alex whistled and stamped his feet. I displayed myself to one side of the room and then the other, imagining that dozens of men were staring in fascination as the descending zipper exposed a widening triangle of white lace panties. Turning my back, I began pushing the snug-fitting shorts down over my hips and buttocks. By the time the first record was about over, I had slid the denim garment past my thighs and calves. As the music ended, I stepped out of the shorts and pirouetted slowly to show myself to Alex and, the roomful of cheering men. Alex applauded and shouted, the sounds increasing my excitement. Standing, he threw a crumpled dollar bill onto the floor in front of me.

          When I bent forward to pick up the tip, I knew that my breasts were spilling out of my bra, almost completely exposed. I could feel the gaze of men I didn’t even know focusing on my burgeoning cleavage and staring at my partially bared bosom. I wanted them to see all of me. Tina Turner began wailing the words to “Nutbush City,” and I really threw myself into the dance. I thrust my pelvis forward and back in rhythm to the pounding tempo, aware that the dark shadow of my own “nut bush” was showing through the flimsy fabric of my panties. As soon as Alex hollered, “Show us your tits,” I unsnapped the clasp at the front of my bra.

          The undergarment fell open, its stuffed cups pulled apart by the dancing sway of my breasts. It remained in place, however, covering my bouncing globes. I rolled my pelvis in a circular motion, at the same time caressing my breasts with my hands through the material that shielded them from view. I drew back the lace, slowly revealing the smooth skin of my milky breasts and finally showing Alex and the boys the hard pink caps of my turgid nipples. I was so aroused that I felt dampness seeping from my vulva to saturate the taut crotchband of the panties, which were all I had on. I turned my back to the audience and bent forward, peeking back at Alex from between my spread legs. I ran my fingers up my thighs until they were stroking lightly over the · roundness of my bottom. As the record neared its end, I stood and turned to face Alex again, ready, at last, to draw the panties down and show off my heated passion place.

          Noticing that Alex had placed a dollar bill on the edge of his table, I danced toward it, looking directly into his eyes and wiggling my fanny and shoulders in his direction. His sight was riveted to my swaying breasts as I moved closer and closer to where he sat. I could see the front of his pants stretching tight over his swollen organ. With one hand, I took the proffered tip while, with the other, I stripped the panties from my body. Lifting the damp wisp of lace with my toe, I kicked it into my husband’s lap. Alex hooted again, holding the panties against his face and moaning dramatically. I imagined that he was the envy of every man in the place.

          I stepped back just as the third record started playing. When Mick Jagger’s voice enunciated, “She’s a honky-tonk woman,” I dropped to the floor on my belly and lifted my backside high in the air. I knew that Alex and the other men could see not only my ass but also the reddened slit of my vagina peeking back at them. I felt the exciting impact of a wadded dollar bill striking my splayed buttocks. Rolling onto my back, I raised my legs in the air, spreading them slowly to reveal the puckered lips of my sex. As I parted my thighs yet farther, I felt my heated womanhood opening to expose the pink inner membranes, now inflamed with my rising lust. With my hands, I touched my inner thighs, stroking my way to the edge of my bush and then running my fingers lightly through the curls; When I saw Alex place a ten-dollar bill on the table in front of him, I realized that he wanted me. I had never dated a customer before, but there was something about this sexy stranger that really appealed to me. I knew nothing about him, but I had stripped and spread my legs for him. Now he was wildly hungry for my body. The game I was playing in my head turned me on even more. He openly desired me. I knew his mind was filled with fantasies of taking me to bed after the show. Like all the other men in the room, he probably thought deep down that it was · nothing more than an impossible dream. But I could make it come true for him.

          I rose from the floor and danced toward the fascinated customer until my bare skin was only inches from his hungry eyes. With deliberate movements, I placed one foot on the edge of his table, bringing my sex so close to his face that he could feel its heat. I thrust forward and back with my hips, causing the puffy lips to open and close before his hypnotized gaze. Taking the ten-dollar bill from the table, I stroked my body with it, tracing little circles around my nipples and trailing sensuous lines across my belly. Dragging it over my hairy mound, I nudged a comer of it lightly at my emerging clitoris. Alex groaned softly, and I knew that it was no act. My performance was obviously having a powerful effect on him. It looked like his trousers would burst from the pressure of his erection against the constraining cloth.

          I wanted him as much as he wanted me. Without ceremony, I pulled him to his feet and quickly unzipped his pants, freeing his swollen member. Stripping him from the waist down, I pushed him back into the chair and lowered myself onto his lap, facing him. I stroked his face with my breasts, rotating my groin over his throbbing erection. I could feel the tip of his hard-on grazing the insides of my legs as it reached for the softness of my feminine opening. Flexing my knees, I lowered myself farther until he pressed hungrily against my moistly puckered membranes. I felt him entering me, penetrating my vagina by exquisitely gradual degrees. At last I rested against his lap, his penis buried completely within me. His hands grasped my buttocks forcefully, rocking me up and down as his rigid organ pis.toned furiously inside me. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and twined my legs around his waist.

          Alex’s muscles tightened as he rose to a standing position. My body was welded to his, our pelvises thrusting together in a frenzy of passion. My back undulated to drive his penis in and o~t of me with long, agonizingly gradual strokes. I felt the edge of the table against my buttocks and allowed Alex to place me gingerly on its surface. I reclined against the tabletop and unlocked my ankles. Lifting my legs in the air, I placed my heels against his shoulders to allow maximum penetration. He thrust forward, plunging into the tunnel of my womanhood. The penetration was deeper and more forceful than any I had ever felt before. His testicles slapped against my upturned bottom each time he buried his probing organ within me. I felt the hairs of his scrotum tickling the sensitive tissues of my femininity.

          I was rising to a stupendous climax. I wanted to hold it back, to keep the tension building as long as I possibly could. But I knew it was hopeless. I was being carried off on a wave of feeling that took complete control of my responses. I had no choice but to yield to an orgasm that threatened to tear my loins apart if I resisted any longer. “Oh, God,” I screamed. “Alex, I’m going to come.” My announcement took my husband over the top. I felt his semen gush into me the moment I articulated the erotic promise. At the same instant, my orgasm struck, drowning me in a whirling sea of ecstasy. Our juices merged as our bodies coupled on the little nightclub table. We bucked and thrust together until every drop had been drained from us. Later, we found ourselves in bed, repeating the contact of our bodies. We moved about on the mattress, each of us straddling and riding the other before changing position to be straddled and ridden. We made love through the night until our exhaustion left us in a state of panting unconsciousness. In the morning, we made love again before our eyes_ were fully open. Alex and I still talk about that wonderful night when I stripped for him and an imaginary audience. The weird mix of reality and fantasy held us both in thrall, maximizing our excitement. We agree that it was the best sex we ever had, but we both know that, as long as we are willing to act out each other’s fantasies, there will be even better sex to come.

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            WORTH WAITING FOR

            Sunday, July 30th, 2017

            Steffie is five-foot-ten and twenty two years old. Her blond hair is cut short, but its mannish style does nothing to detract from her sensuous femininity. Her complexion is smooth and fair; her eyes are a soft green. Although she is slender, she requires that she have her military uniforms altered to fit her properly. Steffie is a soldier who works in the public relations division as a writer for the base newsletter. Her husband, Ed, twenty four, is also in the military. Steffie says that the best sex she and Ed ever had was on the night he returned from an assignment in the Middle East.

            I joined the military to get out of my small town. That was two years ago. I was just a kid. After basic, I was assigned to this base and went to work on the newsletter. It was here that I met Ed. He was two years older than I was, and the warmest, handsomest grunt I ever saw. We went out a few times, and then he asked me to marry him. I jumped at the chance. I was a virgin when we got married, and Ed didn’t have much experience himself. We sort of learned about sex together. I was very bashful about lovemaking at first. Ed was patient, but I knew that he hoped I’d become more spontaneous and less inhibited. He was always trying to perform oral sex on me, but I just didn’t feel comfortable about it and wouldn’t let him. Just as we were settling in to our new life together, Ed got the word that he was shipping out. There was talk about the possibility of war in the Persian Gulf, but this was several months before the war actually started. I remember that I was angry when he told me about going, because the idea of running off to war made him excited and enthusiastic even though it meant leaving me behind. But being a Marine, it didn’t take me too long to get used to the idea. After all, that’s our job.

            The night before he left for the Gulf, we were both feeling depressed about not seeing each other again for months. Neither of us talked about the possibility that there might really be a war and that we might never see each other again. I guess we both realized it without mentioning it. When we went to bed, Ed took me in his arms and held my body close to his. We usually wore pajamas, but this night we were both naked. I suppose we expected our last night together to be filled with passion. It didn’t turn out that way, though.

            We both made an effort to get into it but never really pulled it off. We did manage to have sex, but it seemed to end as soon as it started. I had imagined long hours of lovemaking, but I guess our emotions made that impossible. Instead, we spent most of the night talking. Ed left early the next morning. For the first week, his absence didn’t really sink in. I was alone, but it felt as though he was off on a training exercise. After a while, I began to feel very lonely. Every day I wrote him about how things were on the base and how much I missed him. Once in a while he wrote me a few lines. I never expected more than that because Ed’s not much of a writer.

            Some of my friends told me that I was beginning to wear my loneliness on my face where everybody could see it. I didn’t pay attention to them until one afternoon when I was eating lunch and Tom slipped into an empty chair at my table. As editor of the base newsletter, Tom was my supervisor. He had always been known as a woman chaser, but lately he had become even more flirtatious. Everyone said that with so many of the men away in the Gulf, Tom was making out with dozens of lonely women. He was more successful than he had ever been before. “Hi, Steffie,” Tom said. “You look like you’re hurting; and I’ll bet I know what the problem is.” Before I had a chance to say anything, he put his arm across my shoulders and added, “You’re not getting enough sex. That would make any girl feel lousy. And to a sexy woman like you, it must be absolute hell.”

            Even though Tom’s touch felt good, I gently took his hand and removed his arm from around me. “I’ll manage,” I said. “Why should you?” Tom asked with an air of mock concern. “You’re a healthy young woman. That thing between your legs is going to dry up if you don’t use it. And if you think you feel bad now, wait till that happens.” I knew that Tom was putting the make on me, but he had a way of speaking that made it hard for me to get angry with him. I found him more amusing than offensive. “I’ll manage,” I said again. “Look,” he said. “There are two things you can do about it. You can get yourself a vibrator, which is better than nothing, I suppose. Or you can have the real thing.” “And what would that be?” I asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

            “Baby,” he said. “You give me a chance, and I’ll make you the most satisfied woman on earth. I’ll stroke you and pet you all over until you’re so wet and hot that you can’t stand it anymore. But, don’t worry, I won’t make you beg. My timing is absolutely perfect. The instant you’re ready, I’ll ram my nine-incher so deep into you that you won’t ever want the war to end.” “The war hasn’t even started yet, Tom,” I said. “And thanks for the offer, but I’m really not that desperate.” ”That’s okay,” Tom answered with a wink as he rose from the table. “You know where to reach me if you do get desperate enough. In the meantime, you’d better think about getting that vibrator.” I chuckled, but Tom’s words had a discomforting effect on me. Later, as I sat working at my desk, I thought about how good it would feel to have a nine-incher deep inside me. But the only man I was interested in was Ed, and he was thousands of miles away. That night as I lay in bed alone, I imagined making love to Ed. The tingling itch of unsatisfied desire kept me tossing and turning until the sun came up.

            About a week later, I decided to buy a vibrator. I had never actually seen one, and I wasn’t sure of how it was supposed to be used. I remembered once seeing an ad for vibrators in one of Ed’s magazines, and so I started turning pages. The magazine was filled with pictures of pretty girls in the nude. I knew that Ed sometimes got aroused looking at these pictures and, in the condition I was in, I even found myself becoming aroused. By the time I located the vibrator ad, I wanted to have it immediately. I called the 800 number and gave the woman at the other end my credit-card information. At her suggestion, I agreed to pay extra for next-day delivery. The following day when I saw the express package in my mailbox, I grabbed it and carried it into my apartment with a feeling of mixed excitement and uncertainty. I stared at the package for a moment, wondering what to do with it. Then I tore it open.

            The vibrator was shaped like an erect penis and was covered with soft pink latex that was warm and smooth to the touch. I couldn’t get over how real it looked and felt. It reminded me so much of Eddie’s that I was getting excited just holding it. Feeling a rush of heat enveloping my loins, I went into the bedroom, undressed, and lay down on the bed. Believe it or not, I had never masturbated before. I had never even touched myself down . there except when I was using the bathroom or bathing. I felt awkward holding the vibrator in my hand. The only thing I could think of doing with it was putting it inside me as though it were Eddie’s penis. I was wet, and the vibrator slid in easily. It felt so good going in that it made me remember how long it had been since I was with Eddie. Clumsily, I began moving it in and out, trying to imitate the motions of intercourse. I felt my excitement building. Then I remembered that it was supposed to vibrate. I felt around with my fingertip until I found a little switch at its base. When I flipped it on, it began to hum, and the vibrations intensified the erotic sensation.

            I continued prodding myself with the humming instrument, sliding it in and out of me. I was shocked at how quickly it brought me to the edge of orgasm. It felt too good to come to an end. Hoping to prolong the delightful tingling, I pulled the vibrator out of me and began stroking it lightly around the moist lips of my opening. It seemed that the closer I brought it to the top of my slit, the better it felt. Suddenly, I bumped it against the little button that nestled among the folds of flesh, and I shuddered. I knew about the clit, of course. I had always known that it was there and I had always been aware that it was extremely sensitive. But I don’t think it had ever been stimulated directly before. When the vibrator touched it, it seemed to swell like a balloon, and I was overwhelmed with an intense rush. Gently I placed the vibrating tip against it.

            I felt that I couldn’t catch my breath. I was overpowered with a sense of extreme heat. When it happened, I came so hard that I think I must have screamed. I squeezed my eyes shut, but there were bright lights flashing inside the lids. As my orgasm reached a peak, I found myself imagining Ed’s tongue stroking my clit.

            Afterward, as I lay naked on the bed, I thought regretfully about all the times that Ed wanted to lick me and I wouldn’t let him. Although it was just a mechanical device, the vibrator had introduced me to the wonderfully sensitive response built in to my little love button. It was obvious that a warm, wet, human tongue stroking and sucking on it would feel even better. How ironic that I had discovered this new pleasure while Ed was away and unable to enjoy it with me. I resolved to share my erotic delight with him through letters. The next day at lunch I told my secret to Judy, the newsletter’s photographer. Judy was my very best friend and confidante. When I described the vibrator to her, she giggled. “I’ve been using one for a long time,” she said. “I’m not as lucky as you. I’m not married. I got my vibrator years ago.”

            I told Judy that I wanted to write a letter to Ed telling him about my new discovery. I wanted to make the letter sexy so that it would get Ed real horny. Judy grinned impishly. ”Why don’t you put in a few photos of yourself?” she asked slyly. “Naked, I mean. Let him see what he’s missing.” · I thought of the pictures of nude women I had seen while looking for the vibrator ad. “Well, I don’t know,” I said. “He can see much prettier girls than me in magazines. I’d be willing to send him pictures of me, but I’d want them to be different. Special.” Judy grinned again. “How about some pictures of you playing with your new toy?” she suggested. “That ought to tum him on.” I felt my pulse quicken. “Now, that’s a great idea,” I said. Then my face fell. “But how would I take pictures like that?” “That’s what .friends are for,” Judy answered. “I’ll take them for you.”

            The idea was exciting but embarrassing at the same time. Until the previous night, I had never even touched myself, and now I was thinking about posing lewdly with a vibrator in front of Judy and her camera. Oh, but what one does for love.

            That evening, Judy came home with me and set up her equipment in my bedroom. She began taking pictures of me while, I was undressing. As I think back on it, I realize that it was really a lot of fun. And a very sexy experience. I took off one garment at a time, posing in my bra and panties, and then just in my panties. When Judy told me to remove them, I hesitated for a moment.

            Although I had often taken showers in the presence of other women, it felt weird to be deliberately exposing my pussy that way while Judy watched and took pictures. I was acutely conscious of my curling blond pubic hair and the swollen pink lips of my sex. When Judy directed me to lie back on the bed and spread my thighs, I blushingly obeyed her. She continued to snap photos of my nakedness from every possible angle. Then she said, “Now the vibrator shots.” As the camera clicked away, I followed Judy’s instructions, touching my erect nipple with it, inserting the artificial penis inside me, and stroking my outer lips and clit with it. The next day when Judy presented me with the prints, I was shocked. The photos were the sexiest I had ever seen. Too dirty even for a magazine. “Boy,” I thought. “Will these pictures ever tum Eddie on.”

            That night, I wrote Eddie a long, hot letter. Instead of including the usual chitchat about life on the base, I went right into a description of what I would want him to do if he were there with me right then. I said that I wished he could be in the room with me watching as I got undressed, then touching and stroking me all over my naked body. I enclosed some of the photos that Judy had taken while I was removing my clothes, creating a series that began with me in full uniform and ended with me wearing nothing but panties pulled about halfway down my legs.

            A few days later, I wrote Eddie another letter filled with even more explicit descriptions. I accompanied this one with photos of me lying naked on the bed with my legs spread wide so that he could see every detail of my pussy. I said that I could imagine him putting his fingers in me and even kissing me down there with his hot mouth. I realized that the letter and photos might be seen by military censors, but by now I had become so horny that somehow the idea aroused me even more. I got so excited by the thought of Eddie kissing my pussy that as soon as I was finished writing, I rushed into the bedroom and went to bed with my vibrator. As I slid it around the mouth of my sex and slipped it slowly and teasingly inside me, I thought about Eddie and about the nights of passion that we would have when he came home. I was so aroused by these thoughts that my flesh was soon throbbing to the rhythms of climax. When it was done, I reread my letter and found myself becoming aroused all over again by descriptions of the pleasures that lay ahead.

            In my next love letter I enclosed the last of the lewd photos. In some of these, the pink vibrator was driven deep into me. In others, I was holding its tip against the swollen nub of my clit. I knew that the sight would inflame Eddie’s passion, no matter where he was and no matter what was happening. It certainly inflamed mine. In the letter itself, I said that I longed to feel Eddie’s tongue licking my clit and probing inside me. I could just imagine Eddie’s face as he read my descriptions of his mouth against my pussy, of his lips and tongue nibbling my sensitive membranes- things I never used to let him do. I could imagine his excitement as he looked at the pictures of me doing lewd and lustful things to myself while I awaited his return.

            This kind of writing was quite unlike me. But my longing and wanting for him was driving me to do things I had never done before. My dreams about the joys we would have when he got home turned me into a creature of lust, ‘burying my embarrassment where it couldn’t interfere with our desire. Anticipating the nights of delight that lay ahead of us kept me going as I waited for his return. I hoped it would have the same effect on him.

            I wrote to him regularly, describing the things we would do together and referring to the photos, which I hoped he was carrying with him day and night. He wrote to me also, making clumsy but endearing attempts to duplicate my erotic descriptions. Even though his words were frequently misspelled and often misused, the crudeness of his images was brutally exciting and increased the ardor of my anticipation. When war broke out, I knew that the mail wasn’t getting through consistently, but I kept writing. I felt that my letters would keep him safe. Somehow I thought that his expectations would give him a stronger reason to survive combat, and I was sure that the erotic images that my words and pictures conjured would keep him alert and on his toes.

            Finally, just a few months after it began, the war ended. At first I was disappointed by the news that it might still be several months before all the troops returned. As it turned out, however, Eddie’s group was one of the first to come home because it had been one of the first to be shipped out. · At last I got the word that they would be home within a week. A few days later Tom told me that Eddie would be arriving that very night. When he said I could leave early to go home and get ready, I practically_ flew from the base to my apartment.

            I ran into the bedroom, stripped off my uniform, and jumped into the shower. After drying myself with a towel, I applied perfume all over my body, making sure to use a little extra between my breasts and on my curling sex hair. I put on a sexy pair of brief pink bikini panties and a matching bra that was not much more than a wisp of soft fabric that did little to hold my heavy breasts in place. My heart beating with anticipation, I slipped into jeans and a sweater so tight that my erect nipples could be seen straining against it. All I could think about was getting my hands on Ed. When I arrived at the base airport, a large crowd of people was already waiting for the air transport. Although I knew lots of the other women who were there, we hardly spoke to one another. I was in my own little.world of sexual anticipation. As I look back on it, I guess most of the others were thinking the same sort of things I was. We had all been without our men for months.

            I don’t remember much about the landing or Eddie’s arrival. All I know is that the moment he got off the plane, he swept me up in his arms and we rushed back to our apartment. When we got inside, Eddie kissed me hard on the lips while he unzipped my pants. Within seconds, my sweater and jeans lay in a heap, and his fingers were working at the snaps of my bra. When it was off, we both fell to the floor. He struggled for a moment with my panties before ripping them off in a desperation of hunger. “Oh, those letters,” he whispered. “And the pictures. I haven’t been able to think of anything else for months.” I felt his thick penis bumping at my pussy as he thrust forward like an animal. I was about to guide him in with my hands when he found the mark unassisted. In a flash, his big organ was inside me, driving in to the hilt and filling me with passion. I moaned without inhibition as he rode in and out of me. He was so hungry, he came at once.

            We lay together embracing each other as he panted and strained to catch his breath. “I missed you so much,” he murmured, his lips nuzzling my ear. “I’m so glad to be here with you like this. I want to make love to you until the world ends.” He began kissing my lips passionately, his tongue stroking my teeth. My desire increased as he slowly nibbled and kissed my throat, working his way toward the tops of my heaving breasts. My nipples were so erect that they ached as he took first one and then the other in his mouth, licking gently at first and then sucking harder. He kissed circles around my pink aureoles, licking the curves of my breasts until I was tingling all over. Then, slowly, he began trailing his tongue across my stomach, dipping lightly into the crater of my navel. The juices of my sex were flowing freely.

            “I thought of nothing but this,” I heard him murmur as he nibbled his way down through my tangled nest of pubic hair. Then I felt the first contact of his tongue with my clit. It was like a wonderful electric shock, causing my whole body. to jerk with sweet anticipation. He licked slowly, tracing little figure eights around the erect button. Occasionally, just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, he dipped lower, stroking the lips of my opening. with the flat of his tongue and tasting the spicy juices of my arousal. Then he returned to my clit, sucking hungrily at it. It was everything I had imagined and more. I had anticipated this very moment, and now it was upon me.

            I felt myself building to the greatest climax of my life. It was exquisite. It was magnificent. It was more intense than the vibrator and more exciting than anything I had ever hoped for. I started to sob as the sweet waves of pleasure began to roll through my groin. “Oh, Eddie,” I cried. “Oh, Eddie. Yes. Yes. Oh, Eddie, I love you.” The orgasm was beginning now, and my pelvis was rocking wildly. My back arched as I raised my hips, pressing my sex even tighter against his mouth and tongue. I lost all consciousness, surrendering to pure pleasure. I had never experienced anything like this before. It was stupendous. I floated on a cloud until all my passion was used up. Then I just lay there, basking in the glow.

            Eddie lay beside me, holding me in his arms. Then, rising from the floor, he lifted me and carried me to the bedroom, where he placed me gently on the bed. “I’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he said, “that I had to begin by relieving the pressure. Now we can take our time and really make love.” · I felt him growing hard again as he pressed himself tightly against me, and I knew our night of love was just beginning. The months that we had spent imagining and anticipating our reunion had prepared us for total excitement and complete ecstasy. We had missed each other terribly, and neither of us would ever want to go through a period of separation like that again. But the night of Eddie’s return gave us both the best sex we ever had.

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              EROTIC HOLIDAY

              Tuesday, July 25th, 2017

              short hair blonde ass naked

              Every now and then a good engine needs to be overhauled. Worn parts are replaced, repaired, restored, or re calibrated. The exterior is repainted, and the switches are rewired. When the job is done, the device has, in a way, been re-created. Re-creation is the process of being brought back into existence. When we apply the term to ourselves, we drop the hyphen and spell it recreation. Its meaning changes too, signifying the process of refreshing oneself with an entertaining activity. The change in meaning is only slight, however, because in refreshing ourselves we are, in a way, bringing ourselves back into existence. Without recreation, our spirits would run down like engines in need of an overhaul.

              Intimate relationships occasionally need re-creation also. Lovers, or husbands and wives, may involve themselves so much in their individual activities that they lose touch with each other. Their schedules become so filled with work and family responsibilities that there may not seem to be time for a fulfilling sex life. Although sexual attraction probably played a role in bringing them together, they may forget it in the struggle to pay bills or maintain a lifestyle. To keep passion from leaking slowly out of a love once charged with intense desire and emotion, some couples take an erotic holiday. They plan a night or weekend of sex the way other people plan a vacation. They select a particular date and location, faking, in advance, whatever reservations are necessary. They arrange to have all business out of the way so that nothing will interfere with their amorous adventure.

              Then, in a specially selected hideaway or in the privacy of their own bedroom, they devote themselves to lovemaking and romance. By forgetting the pressures of the workaday world and rediscovering sensual pleasure, they bring their stale relationships back into vibrant existence. Their sexual recreation becomes a true re-creation. People who have tried it say that their erotic holidays gave them the best sex they ever had.

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                LAS VEGAS OUTCALL

                Wednesday, July 12th, 2017

                Harriet and her husband, Randy, successfully operate their own business, manufacturing and selling mannequins for store window displays. Harriet, thirty-one, has soft black hair and big blue eyes. She stands five feet eight inches tall, her rounded breasts and hips giving her body the sensuous softness that inspired Randy to create their high1y salable full-figured mannequins. Although Randy’s hands produce the product, Harriet is the brain behind the business, in charge of marketing, advertising, selling, and everything else that needs to be done. Harriet says that they had their best sex a few months ago while celebrating an important sale that she had made to a department store chain.

                Randy was so excited when I told him about the deal that he grabbed one of the mannequins and danced her around the studio. Then he started dancing with me. “Let’s take a few days off,” he said. “We can afford it now. Let’s celebrate and go to Vegas.”

                We had been there once before and really enjoyed it. It seemed like the kind of place where dreams just might come true. The casinos are open twenty four hours a day and they don’t even have clocks, so you never know what time it is and the fun never has to end. The idea sounded great to me. I got on the phone and booked us a flight for that very afternoon. Four hours later we were stepping out of a cab on the Las Vegas Strip. We settled into our hotel and decided to take a little walk before dinner. Strolling along the wide boulevard, we gazed at the glitzy lights and neon that advertised the celebrities who were appearing at clubs and lounges. The streets were filled with cars, buses, and taxis, all honking their horns and jockeying for position in the mounting traffic.

                Newspaper vending machines lined the sidewalks, offering free tabloids. Actually, they were advertising brochures for adult entertainments and featured garish color pictures of women in scanty outfits and lingerie. Before we returned to the hotel, Randy managed to gather an armload of them. In our room, we lay together on the king .. size bed, leafing through the pages and giggling over the suggestive ads for “Escorts” and “Private Dancers.” I soon realized that some of these were really prostitution services. The language they used left very little doubt about what they were selling. Most used the word outcall, indicating they would come right to your hotel room for your convenience. A few of them promised “Escorts of all shapes and sizes to satisfy your every desire.” One proclaimed, “You’ll be so glad you came.” Another said, “We specialize in men, women, and couples.”

                We made dinner reservations at an elegant restaurant and took our time getting ready. After we showered and dressed, we rode the elevator down to the lobby. Like all Las Vegas hotels, this one was designed in such a way that you couldn’t get anyplace without walking through the bustling gambling casino. The slot machines’ lights and bells were hypnotic, making it just about impossible to get past them without placing a bet or dropping a coin into one. We found ourselves standing in front of a gleaming chrome bandit that held out the opportunity to win a million dollars with one pull of its handle. Randy was fumbling in his pockets when a hostess in a brief red outfit offered to make change. Randy handed her a twenty and received a paper cup filled with silver dollars. A glazed look in his eye, he slipped one into the slot and gestured toward the handle. “You pull it,,, he said. “For luck.,, I reached over and yanked hard on the lever, watching the little wheels spin to display fleeting glimpses of cherries, plums, and lemons in a window at the front of the machine. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a siren and the jangling of a bell. I looked around to see where it was coming from when Randy shouted, “We won! We won! You hit the jackpot!,,

                People at nearby machines formed a circle around us. One asked, “How much did you win?,, I had no idea. Randy was studying the chart at the top of the machine. “You got four lemons!,, he exclaimed. “Four lemons pays a thousand bucks!” The hostess who had given him change just a few moments before stepped out of the crowd. “That’s right,,, she said, fitting a key into the machine to silence its bell and siren. “Congratulations. I’ll take you to the cashier for your payoff.,, In a daze, we followed her to a window that looked like a teller’s station in a bank. As if in a dream, I stood with Randy and heard the cashier ask, “How would you like the money?” I heard my husband say, “Hundreds, please.” I saw the cashier count out ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, but I didn’t really believe any of it was happening until I saw Randy fold the money and put it in his pocket.

                “Let’s go eat,” he said. “I think we’ve finished gambling.” At the dinner table, I was so excited I could hardly swallow my salad. “You picked a good machine,” I said giddily. “Maybe you ought to become a professional gambler.” “Oh, no,” Randy responded. “You’re the one who won. After all, you pulled the handle. You should decide what we do with the money.” “Let me think about it for a while,” I said, sipping my wine. “I’m still in shock.” “Me, too,” Randy said. “Let’s spend it impulsively.” Suddenly, I became aware of a thought that had been bouncing around secretly inside my head ever since we looked at the tabloids in our room. “I want a private dancer,” I said. “Let’s spend it on one of those escorts.” Randy looked shocked. “What do you mean?” he asked, obviously puzzled. Emboldened by our victory over the slot machine, by the fantasy atmosphere that abounds in Las Vegas, and perhaps a little by the wine I was drinking, I explained breathlessly, “I want to feel two people making love to me at the same time.” Looking down at my plate, I added weakly, “I’d like one of them to be you, and the other one to be a woman.”

                Randy stared at me in silence, a gleam of fascination lighting his eyes. “Are you serious?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “If you’d be willing.” Then, embarrassed, I blurted, “But I wouldn’t want you to touch her or her to touch you. This would just be for me.” Suddenly, I felt ashamed. “ls that perverted? Or selfish?” I inquired. Randy grinned. “Hell, no,” he answered. “I think it’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard.”

                We finished our dinner and headed back to the hotel. As soon as we were inside the room, I started thumbing through the tabloids, looking for an ad that I remembered from before. “Let’s do it right now,” I said. “I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve if we wait. Let’s see if we can get someone for tonight.” Spotting the words “We specialize in men, women, and couples,” I exclaimed, “Here it is! This one does outcalls and it says they come in all shapes and sizes. Will you call?” “This is your night,” he said. “You call and tell them exactly what you want.”

                Although I was nervous, I somehow managed to dial the phone and make the arrangements, receiving a promise that a woman would be at our door within an hour. It seemed that only a moment went by, though, before we heard a knock. I stood back, my heart beating wildly, as Randy opened the door to admit an attractive blond woman in a low-cut green evening dress. “Hi,” she said, flashing a friendly smile. “I’m Loni from the escort service.” Randy and I stood speechless, at a total loss for words. Loni was confident and seemed completely at ease. Closing the door behind her, she glanced at each of us. ”Did you have something special in mind?” she asked. When neither of us answered, she persisted, “Am I doing him? Her? Both? Is there anything specific you want? Don’t want? Would one of you kindly fill me in?” Her musical laugh made me feel a little more comfortable.

                “This was my idea,” I said, “so let me explain. I want both of you to make love to me. But I don’t want anything to happen between you and Randy. Oh, this is my husband, Randy, and I’m Harriet.” “No problem,” Loni answered. “I understand completely. It’s your money. You call the shots. But I have to collect in advance. Two hundred dollars, please.” As soon as Randy handed the bills to her, she tucked them in her purse and reached back to unzip her dress. Within moments she was standing before us completely naked.

                The escort service had done a good job in selecting a woman to fit the description I gave them. She was .in her late twenties, about five-foot-four, with a trim waist and wide hips. Although her breasts were quite large, they did not sag, but jutted out proudly from her chest, the erect nipples pointing slightly upward. Her heart-shaped face was surrounded by blond curls, but the hair of her bush was dark brown. She had a smoothly rounded bottom. I noticed Randy studying her candidly, and for some reason I found that exciting.

                She turned slowly in place so that we could both get a good clear look at her. Then she said, “Come on, you two. How about getting your clothes off so the fun can begin.”

                I watched Randy undo his fly and step out of his pants. His penis was already hard, sticking straight out in front of him. I didn’t mind a bit when I saw Loni looking at it. Then she looked expectantly at me. Nervous once again, I began to undress, concentrating on the task so I wouldn’t have to meet Loni’s eyes or Randy’s. As I stripped, Loni chattered to relieve the tension. “This is your first time,” she said. “I can tell. Well, don’t worry about it. I get calls like this all the time. You’d be surprised how many couples want it just the way you do. All kinds of people.” By now I was nude and could feel goose bumps all over my body. “Why don’t you lay back on the bed?” Loni suggested. “Let me and your husband make you feel good.”

                I closed my eyes as I did so, but when I felt hands moving softly over my bare belly, I had to open them. I didn’t want to miss any of the sensations. I wanted to see everything that was being done to me. I wanted to memorize pictures of this experience so that I could enjoy them again later. Randy stood beside the bed, watching as Loni’s fingers trailed expertly over my naked skin. She sat beside me, facing me, with her bare hip pressed against mine. Delicately, she cupped my breasts. I felt my nipples harden as she stroked them. At first her touch was so gentle that I was barely aware of it. Gradually, though, she began kneading and twisting my nipples, sending bolts of tingling pleasure through me. I stared at the woman’s breasts, watching her nipples harden with mine. I was aching to touch them but didn’t have the nerve. Leaning forward, Loni moved closer. ‘Go ahead,” she suggested. ”Hold them. It feels good. Do the same things I’m doing to you.”

                I looked at Randy, who was watching wide .. eyed, his erection throbbing with excitement. Wordlessly, he nodded in agreement to her suggestion. Tentatively, I reached for the smooth globes of her bosom. When my hands made contact with them, a shiver of excitement passed over me. It was the first time I had ever touched any breasts but my own. The naughtiness of it was thrilling. Especially with my husband there to see it all. I began to experiment, taking the dark nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. I could feel them become even harder in response to my caresses. Gently, I rolled them, imagining what it would be like to suck on one of them. The excitement that came from having my breasts and nipples stroked by a woman while I did the same to her made me brave. Lifting my head from the pillow, I parted my lips.

                Loni recognized my desire immediately, moving to bring her nipples within inches of my mouth. “Go ahead,” she whispered. “I like it.” The shock of excitement that thrashed my loins almost overpowered me as I licked lightly at one swollen rosebud. I felt my juices flow copiously, wetting the lips of my vagina as my tongue laved the crinkly skin that capped her breasts. In response to my sucking, Loni passed one of her hands slowly across the naked plane of my abdomen, seeking my trembling pubic mound. She pressed her palm against my sex hair. The tips of her fingers began to tease at the full lips of my vulva, picking up droplets of moisture and spreading them upward toward the pulsating button of my clitoris. As she rubbed little circles around it, I felt one of her fingers slipping inside me, probing deeper, until it impaled me completely. I fell back, sighing, my mouth leaving her breast.

                With a strangled groan, Randy dropped to his knees beside the bed, his lips seeking my turgid nipple. Loni cupped the fullness of my flesh, holding it up to him with her hand. When his tongue made contact with me, the combined sensations were incredible. One of her fingers was driving into my sex while her hand and his mouth worked together to bring ecstatic pleasure to my breast. Randy began moving his head from one of my nipples to the other, sucking hungrily at them. I felt Loni’s hands cup the globes of my buttocks, lifting me slightly off the mattress. Randy was blocking my view of her, but I felt the softness of her face against the skin of my inner thighs. Her hot breath washed over my sensitive tissues as she kissed softly at the tops of my legs. I could feel her lips coming closer and closer to my frantically aroused vagina, and I knew that she was going to perform cunnilingus on me. I heard a groan of pleasure before I realized that it was coming from me. Loni’s tongue snaked over my vaginal lips, darting between them for an instant to give me a preview of the excitement that was to come. She nibbled and licked at me with a gentleness and expertise that could only be found in another woman. I felt myself flowering open to receive her lingual thrusts, my loins rising to press desperately against her.

                Her tongue penetrated me, parting the membranes of my sex to copulate lovingly with my vulva. Rhythmically, she drove it in and out, mimicking the movements of intercourse with indescribable tenderness. Then she withdrew it to travel upward, tracing hot little trails around the throbbing erection of my pleasure center. My clit burgeoned, jutting forth to separate the folds of flesh that protected it and to bathe in Loni’s moist, hot breath. She licked with just the right amount of pressure, not too hard, not too soft. I felt my excitement rising and feared that I would come too fast, that this delightful adventure would end as suddenly as it had begun. Sensing my anxiety, Loni drew back, placing her hand flat over my tingling vaginal plane.

                “Lie on your back next to Harriet,” she whispered to Randy. My husband obeyed her, reluctantly leaving my nipple to stretch out beside me on the bed. His manly erection stood straight up from the hairy jungle of his loins. Taking my hands, Loni pulled me into position above him. She had me lie down on top of him with my back against his chest, my breasts pointing at the ceiling. I could feel his insistent penis nudging from behind at the swollen mound between my legs, trying to find its opening.

                With a thrill, I felt Loni’s fingers gently part the lips.of my vulva, directing my rotating pelvis until the tip of his organ pressed hungrily at my slit. While she stroked the curls of my pubic hair, she spread me open to ease his penetration. At last he was inside me. Loni stroked my breasts while Randy’s penis plunged to the hilt in my wet sex. He wrapped his arms tightly around my body as he drove into me. Slowly, we moved together and apart, his erection repeatedly penetrating my inflamed interior. Just when I thought the sensations were as intense as they could possibly be, I felt Loni’s tongue searching for the swollen head of my clitoris.

                A sob tore involuntarily from my throat as I thrilled to the feeling of being filled by Randy’s thick organ while Loni’s mouth expertly titillated my most sensitive spot. I never knew that anything could be this exciting. It was like experiencing sex for the very first time. I became lost in swirling excitement, controlled completely by the ecstasy of total eroticism. I felt like I was turning inside out. Randy’s hands cupped my breasts, squeezing their softness and stroking lovingly over the nipples to bring them to maximum erection. Each movement of his fingers sent a jolt of electric energy shooting straight to my sexual center. I entered a world filled with sensuous pleasures that I had never experienced before, that I never even knew existed.

                This time, when I felt my orgasm building, I wanted it to come. I wanted to feel the ultimate pleasure of intercourse with my husband while a woman’s gentle tongue lapped at my clitoris, and while hands-I no longer knew whose-petted the erectness of my nipples. I was getting all the stimulation I could possibly receive. It drove me over the edge. “Oh, God, I’m coming,” I screamed, as surge after rollicking surge gushed through my body. Loni kept licking, her talented tongue taking me through an orgasm that lifted me higher than I ever knew I could fly.

                “I’m going to come in you, Harriet,” Randy croaked. I could feel his body tightening beneath mine, his organ swelling in preparation for emission. “Yes,” I cried. “Come in me.” With that, I felt his penis begin to spurt, filling me with the fluids of his ecstasy. He groaned rhythmically, the tempo of his gasps matching the beating of our orgasmic contractions. As my juices mingled with Randy’s, Loni kept tonguing my clit to extend the climax until it seemed endless. Finally, when the pleasure was so intense that it bordered on discomfort, I felt the spasms winding down. Randy’s penis softened and slipped out of me. Loni’s lingual caresses lightened until I barely felt the lips of her mouth nibbling at the lips of my vagina. With a sigh, I rolled off Randy, sinking into the mattress beside him, oblivious to all sense of reality, lost in post passion serenity.

                As I came slowly to my senses, I was vaguely aware of Loni. moving about the room, getting back into her clothes. When she was dressed, she smiled and said, “I hope you two have a wonderful time in Las Vegas.” Without another word, she was gone, closing the door softly behind her. For a long time, Randy and I lay together in silence. Then I told him how much I enjoyed the adventure. I tried to describe how wonderful it felt to have every part of me touched at once, all my erogenous centers stimulated simultaneously. Randy understood. I never could have experienced those sensations with Randy alone. I was grateful that he was tolerant enough to make it possible. By understanding my desires and indulging them that night, he gave me the best sex I ever had.

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                  IMAGINARY ORGY

                  Friday, June 30th, 2017

                  Jared is thirty-seven years old, five-foot-nine, and weighs 165. His brown eyes are owlish behind black-framed glasses. Jared and his wife, Carrie, age thirty-two, are CPAs, each employed by a different firm. Jared says that he and Carrie had their best sex ever when they turned a dull party into a make-believe orgy.

                  Carrie and I are both on the partnership track at the accounting firms we are with. That means that if we generate enough business and bill enough hours, we get to have our names on the letterhead some day, along with a million others. That makes going to parties and socializing with the right people just as much a part of our profession as giving tax advice. Everyone who goes to these parties is in the same boat as we are. They’d all rather be somewhere else, but it’s important to see and be seen. It’s especially important to look affluent. They say nothing succeeds like success.

                  The men all wear Armanis. The women dress in low-cut Chanels. Those high-fashion outfits always offer a banquet of cleavage, and most of the women who wear them just love showing it off. As far as I’m concerned, without cleavage the whole thing would be terminally boring. Naturally, I can’t help but look. Carrie noticed and kidded me about it one night after we came home from a party given by-her firm. “Your eyes must be really tired,” she said. “After all, looking down the fronts of all those dresses is hard work.” “What are you talking about?” I protested, trying to sound innocent. I guess I was a little embarrassed being caught by my wife. “Looking down the front of what dresses?”

                  Carrie snorted derisively. “Come on,” she taunted. “If you were any more obvious, someone would have called the Peeping Tom squad. Anyway, with all the flesh on display, I would wonder about the hormones of any male that didn’t look.” When I realized that she didn’t mind my roving eyes, I felt a whole lot more comfortable. “How can you blame me?” I asked. “The party was so dull that the stuff inside those dresses was the only interesting thing I saw all evening. Besides, you can really learn a lot about people that way.” “Really, now,” Carrie said in a doubtful tone. “Arousing, maybe. But what the hell did you learn?” “Oh, you’d be surprised,” I told her. “Did you know, for example, that the office manager of your firm has a little butterfly tattooed on her right breast?”

                  Surprised wasn’t a strong enough word. Carrie looked shocked. “You’re kidding,” she sputtered. “Judith has a tattoo? On her boob? I can’t believe it. It’s just too incongruous. She’s so stuffy.” I was beginning to like this. “And Frank Wilson’s wife,” I continued. “You know who I mean. Old Prune face? Would you believe she has the plumpest, hardest nipples you’ve ever seen. And they’re the color of sweet pink bubblegum.”

                  “You mean to tell me you get to see nipples!” she exclaimed. “Boy, when you look, you really look.”

                  “It’s all in knowing how,” I bragged. “If you pick the right moment to peek-like when they’re leaning forward to get up from the couch or bending over the coffee table for a drink you can see it all. In the course of an evening, I get a bird’s-eye view of maybe two dozen pairs of tits. Not counting yours.” The conversation was starting to get me aroused. Describing to my wife what I had seen and receiving her approval was strangely erotic. I could tell that my confession was having a similar effect on her. Carrie was undoing the buttons at the front of her dress, her face flushed with excitement. As she slipped the garment off her shoulders, her rose-colored nipples showed hard against the filmy material of her transparent bra.

                  “I don’t think it’s fair,” she said in a tone of mock petulance. “You get to see all the women’s boobs, but we poor women never get opportunities like that. Too bad men’s fashions aren’t as revealing as women’s. I think I would enjoy parties more if I got a chance to peek at the men’s dicks occasionally.” The hoarse sound of her breathing told me how turned on she was. Stepping behind her, I placed my hands on her shoulders and began stroking lightly over her bare skin with the tips of my fingers. I nuzzled the back of her neck, knowing that this always increased her heat. With practiced touch, I unhooked her bra, letting her ample breasts fall naturally from its confinement.

                  I cupped her soft firmness in both my hands. “I’ve seen some of those dicks in the locker room at the club,” I whispered. “Would you like me to tell you about them?” She turned her head to kiss me passionately on the lips. Our tongues touching sensuously, we shuffted toward the bedroom. “Did you ever see Frank Wilson naked?” she asked, a trace of embarrassment in her voice. “Yes,” I murmured. “You’d like looking at him, all right. He works out all the time and has a terrific body. He’s got real big muscles with a dick to match. It’s long and fat, with a huge round head shaped like a mushroom.” To enhance her mounting excitement, I added, “It’s humongous even when it’s flaccid. I can just imagine how big it gets when he’s using it on his prune-faced wife.” “Deirdre. Her name is Deirdre,” Carrie giggled, pulling me down next to her on the bed. “Maybe Deirdre was thinking about her husband’s stiff cock when you caught a glimpse of her nipples. Maybe that’s why they were so big and hard.” Her face took on a pensive look. Then, in a voice almost too soft for” me to hear, she added, “Wouldn’t it be fun if everybody came naked to these parties?” The idea appealed to me. I said, “It would be even more fun if everybody was screwing instead of having those dull conversations.”

                  Carrie sighed. The sound was familiar, but I usually didn’t get to hear it except when we were making love. I realized that the .fantasy was igniting her desire. ”Who would you be screwing, Jared?” she asked. “Why, I’d be screwing you, baby,” I answered. “But wouldn’t it be great to do it in a roomful of other people who are also doing it?” Carrie, who had somehow managed to slip out of her dress, seized my hand and pressed it to her crotch. I could feel her heat through the fabric of her panties. I moved my palm in little circles to bring her passion to a boil. When I stroked the damp material that clung to her flesh, I heard her sigh again. “Tell me,” she demanded in an aroused whisper. “Who would we see? What would they be doing?”

                  “Well,” I began, my hand still petting her groin, “I’m sure Frank Wilson would be there with Pruneface. I can see them standing together next to the mantel. He’s got a drink in his hand, but she’s got his big dick in both of hers. She’s stroking it slowly, making it harder and harder. Its bulbous head is turning purple. Deirdre’s nipples are erect, the pink points jabbing at his bare chest. As he tips his head back to sip his martini, she drops to her knees and begins gobbling his hard-on.”

                  I slipped my finger inside the crotch of my wife’s panties and began sliding the tip up and down the length of her moistening slit. She kissed my ear, running her tongue all around it and taking most of it into her hot mouth. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her get this excited this fast. “Look over there,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the other side of the room. “Who do you see and what are they doing?” ”I see Judith sprawled naked on the couch,” Carrie began immediately. “Her legs are spread wide open so every detail of her sex is visible to anyone who wants to look. Her husband, Ned, is kissing her butterfly, the one she’s got tattooed on her breast. Her nipples are standing straight out from the front of her tits. They’re bright red, like a pair of bing cherries. He’s sucking on one of them now. Listen, Jared. Can you hear her moans of pleasure?”

                  “Sure can,” I answered, helping my wife out of her panties. “And so can Mr. Benjamin, the executive vice-president of your firm. Do you see him? He’s standing next to the couch watching Ned and Judith while stroking his own cock. It’s long and thin, and there’s a little drop of moisture oozing out at the tip. Too bad he’s a bachelor and has to jerk himself off.” “No,” Carrie improvised. “Here comes Michelle, his secretary. She’s always there to take care of his needs. Look. She’s reaching out for his dick. There. She’ll stroke it for him. That leaves his hands free to play with her ass.” “She’s got a cute little ass, too,” I threw in. “To go with her petite figure.” As I spoke, my hands roamed freely over Carrie’s naked body, stopping to tweak her nipples. Our sex talk had made them harder than ever before. I loved it.

                  “Tell me about Judith and Ned while I lick you,” I said. “What are they doing now?” I touched my lips to the fountain of my wife’s flowing womanhood. Her hips moved to raise her ass off the bed and press her mound against my face. “There’s a group of naked people standing around them,” Carrie whispered, struggling to breathe evenly as my tongue probed her opening. “All the men have erections, and some of the women are stroking them. All eyes are on Judith and Ned. Judith is on the couch on her knees. She’s bending over one of the sofa arms, waving her naked ass at Ned and the audience. Everyone can see the opening of her sex. “Ned is on his knees behind her. As he moves forward to place the tip of his erection against her open slit, some of the people in the crowd are overcome with passion. I hear groans of pleasure and I’m not sure whether they are coming from Judith or from the people who are watching Ned enter her.” Carrie’s body writhed uncontrollably each time the tip of my tongue found the throbbing button of her clitoris. For a moment she stopped talking, filling the air with the sound of her hoarse gasps. Then she continued in a seductive whisper. “Ned’s got his cock all the way inside his wife,” Carrie said. “You can see his hard-on sliding easily in and out of her, and his balls slap against the backs of her thighs with every thrusting stroke.” I never realized that my wife had such an explicit erotic imagination.

                  “The sight is turning everyone on,” she continued. “Other couples are starting to do it, too. The Eastmans are trying to imitate Judith and Ned’s position, only they’re on the floor. Mrs. Eastman is on her hands and knees, and her husband is mounting her from behind. They are facing us and watching what you are doing to me.” The thought of performing for an audience aroused me even more, increasing the heat that coursed through my body as my mouth devoured my wife’s vulva. My cock was so hard that it was starting to ache. I twisted to one side as if to show it to the couple who was ogling us from their position on the floor. “Yes,” Carrie hissed, her imagination in tune with mine. “Mrs. Eastman is staring at your hard-on. She can’t take her eyes off it. I can’t blame her, though. It’s the biggest and best in the room.” Her words· were driving me wild.

                  “Mr. Eastman’s eyes are glued to my tits,” she murmured. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m holding them in my hands to show them to him. I’m twisting my nipples with my fingers while your tongue sends chills through my body. Old Eastman is drooling at the sight of us. Now I’m cupping both breasts so he can get a really good look.” I know I wouldn’t like it if anybody but me actually did get to see my wife’s tits, but in fantasy, the idea was tremendously exciting. Taking my face from her heated sex, I said, “Open your legs wide. Let him see everything.” My words were like an electric shock going through Carrie. She moaned in passion and obliged me by parting her thighs to reveal herself to the imaginary eyes that were watching her. Tentatively at first, and then boldly, she began stroking her own sizzling tissues, putting on a hot sex show for the makebelieve couples having sex all around us. Our fantasy game was getting to both of us.

                  “Put your cock between my tits,” Carrie suggested. Holding her big breasts in her hands, she beckoned to me, inviting my hard-on to take its place in the cleft of her bosom. I stroked my dick with my hand, imagining that all eyes in the room had focused on us. Then, straddling my wife on my knees, I laid the length of my throbbing erection against the satiny smoothness of her skin. Gently, Carrie pressed her breasts together, engulfing my swollen member in her sensuous flesh. Her nipples were practically touching each other. “-Fuck me,” she murmured. “Fuck my tits.” Carrie didn’t usually talk that way when we made love, but we were on a sexual high that left no room for inhibitions or embarrassment. “Fuck my tits while everybody watches us.”

                  I pumped forward and back with my hips, plunging through the sweat-moistened softness of her bosom. My cock was throbbing with excitement, buried deep in the tunnel between her twin peaks. I could almost feel the stares of the other people at the party. With my eyes closed, I saw them coupling in every possible position, on couches, chairs, the carpet, and even leaning against the walls. My field of fantasy vision was filled with cocks and asses and tits and vaginas and triangular patches of curling pubic hair. The fabricated images had become so real to me that the room even seemed to smell of sex. I realized that I was only an instant from spilling my come all over ·my wife’s heaving_ bosom. Rearing back, I pulled myself away to savor the ecstatic moment a little longer. I wanted to be in her. I wanted to feel the warmth and pleasure of· her inner membranes. I wanted everyone to watch as I penetrated my wife’s tight wet pussy. “Spread your legs,” I whispered in her ear. “I’m going to fuck you now. In front of everyone.” With a sigh, Carrie lifted her legs high in the air and pulled them wide apart. “They’re all looking at my pussy,” she panted. “Put your cock in me and fuck me hard. Let them see how good a lover you are.” Her words thrilled me, making my dick pulsate with hungry excitement.

                  Holding the base of my erection with my fingers, I guided its tip against her eager opening. Her vulva swallowed me up, its lubricated walls yielding slowly to the insistent pressure of my entry. She sucked me in deeper and deeper, like quicksand dragging its victim toward the center of the earth. At last I felt my pubic bone collide with hers. My eyes were tightly closed. Our orgiastic fantasy was, for now, a total reality. I could hear the sounds of a dozen other people breathing lustfully as they made love all around us. I could feel their watchful gaze on our nude bodies as we cavorted savagely together. Carrie was smashing and thrusting her pelvis hard against mine, meeting each of my potent drives with a burst of sexual energy. “I’m going to come,” she announced, alerting the crowd of onlookers that her completion was fast approaching. ”I’m going to fl.ow like a river,” she screamed, her excitement driving me to the edge of my own frenzied climax. “Oh, come with me,” she commanded. “Yes,” I shouted. “I’m coming “I’m coming inside you. I’m coming now.”

                  Her rhythmic gasps made it clear that her orgasm had begun just an instant before mine. I felt my cock pumping spurt after spurt of heated fluid deep into her channel to mingle with her own impassioned love juices. We seemed to come forever. At first, I was acutely aware of the aroused audience watching our climb to fulfillment. Then I lost consciousness of everything but the orgasm itself. It was the strongest and most intense climax I ever experienced. Carrie’s cries of passion said that the same was true for her. After all our sexual energy was spent, we lay tangled in each others arms, exhausted and completely satisfied. When I finally opened my eyes, I was almost surprised to see that we were alone. “Looks like everyone else went home,” I said.

                  Carrie giggled. “Wasn’t that the best ever?” she asked languidly. “Absolutely,” I answered. As if reading from a script, we both added simultaneously, “That was the best sex I ever had.” And it was, too. I guess everybody, at some time in his or her life, dreams about going to a sex orgy. I don’t think most people would ever really want to. I know I wouldn’t. But fantasizing about it while making love allowed Carrie and me to experience it without actually doing it.

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                    ANNIVERSARY

                    Thursday, December 3rd, 2015

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                    Henry is forty-nine years old with a sprinkling of silver in his brown hair. He is five feet eleven inches tall and slightly over weight. His lively gray eyes are surrounded by laugh lines which make him appear to be perpetuall1 smiling. Henry is a dentist. He reveals two perfect rows of gleaming white teeth as he talks about the anniversary of his marriage to his wife, Yvette.

                    It may sound funny, but the idea for this adventure came to me one day about two years ago, while I was drilling a patient’s tooth. If you aren’t a dentist, you can’t possibly imagine how dull and uninteresting it is to spend your whole day filling cavities. You smile and tell the patient that it isn’t going to hurt a bit. Then a quick shot in the gums and it’s drill, drill, drill.

                    This goes on for eight or ten hours a day, every day of the week. By the end of the afternoon, all I feel like doing is going home and flopping down in front of the TV set. But maybe life is like that. I don’t know. You get older and your practice gets more successful and you find you just don’t have time anymore to stop and smell the roses. Yvette understands and never complains about it, but I’m sure she can’t help feeling a bit neglected. We don’t even have sex as often as we’d like to. And when we do, it’s too much like some obligatory activity that we’ve managed to work into our busy schedules. For me, the best kind of sex is the romantic kind, where ·you build up to it slowly so that it truly feels like an act of love instead of just a mechanical coupling. But we don’t seem to have time for that anymore.

                    It wasn’t always like this, of course. When Yvette and I met, we were both going to school in New York City. New York is a noisy, dirty, crowded metropolis, unlike anything here on the West Coast. But in spite of the hustle and bustle, you can find romance if you know where to look for it. I remember one summer evening when I surprised Yvette with an al fresco candlelight dinner right there in the heart of the city. I cooked and served her a lavish meal on a table that I set up on the roof of the apartment building I lived in. I borrowed some decent china and a tablecloth to create a feeling of luxury. Yvette acted like we were in the best restaurant in town.

                    Afterward, in my apartment, we made beautiful love. I’m not just talking about sex. I’m talking about making love. That sense of romance is what makes all the difference. We used to fill our lives with romance back then. Sometimes, when it was raining, we’d drive to the beach and just sit in the car holding hands and enjoying the stormy ocean waves. We might kiss · and pet a little to warm ourselves up for the night of passion that was sure to follow.

                    It’s a good thing romance doesn’t cost much, because I didn’t have any money to speak of in those days. That never stopped us from having a good time, though. I remember once when we spent an entire Saturday afternoon sitting together in a bathtub full of bubble bath and drinking champagne. It was cheap stuff, but we knew how to make the best of things. I think we must have made love four times that afternoon, our bodies slipping and sliding in all that soapy water. Well, about a year ago, there I was working on a patient when I started daydreaming about the way Yvette and I would set aside a whole day or night for romance and making love. I found myself wishing things could be like that again. I realized that our wedding anniversary was a few weeks away, and decided to do something to recapture those old feelings. We usually celebrate our anniversary by going out to dinner and maybe the theater. But this time, I made up my mind that the theme for our celebration would be romantic lovemaking.

                    I remembered an ad I had recently seen in one of those slick magazines devoted to the affluent lifestyle. The ad was for a resort that described its accommodations as “luxury honeymoon cottages.” I thumbed through all the magazines in my waiting room until I found the one I was looking for and called to inquire. The reservations clerk told me that each of their cottages faced the ocean and was laid out in a way that took best advantage of the ocean view. They all came with redwood hot tubs, platform beds, and patios. The atmosphere sounded exactly like what I had in mind. The rates were exorbitant, almost a thousand dollars a day, but Lord knows I can afford it now.

                    That night I asked Yvette how she would feel about celebrating our anniversary by devoting the night to sheer sexual ecstasy. I told her about my yearning for our old sense of romance and my hope that we would find it in the honeymoon cottage. It seemed to be just the kind of thing we would have done when we first met, if we weren’t always so broke ·back then. Yvette jumped at the idea and said that she too longed for the kind of lovemaking that used to come so easily to us when we were younger. The next morning I called to book the cottage.

                    As the day approached, Yvette and I became even more enthusiastic about the idea. I shopped around for a beautiful diamond necklace to give her as a gift: The night before we were to leave, I went to the best department store in town and also bought her a luxurious negligee. It was white satin, trimmed with delicate white lace, and reminded me of her wedding gown. The memory of Yvette as a bride increased my feeling of romance. On the day of our anniversary, I had a local florist fill the back of my car with flowers. There must have been hundreds of them. I wanted the fragrance to surround us completely as we drove to our romantic rendezvous. When Yvette got into the car and saw them, she gasped with delighted surprise, her blue eyes gleaming.

                    We took a leisurely drive, meandering our way up the coast. To our left, the ocean was a brilliant cobalt blue. To the right were rolling hills of bright forest green. It all contrasted dramatically with Yvette’s long golden hair. Everything was perfect. All I could think of was the hours we would soon be spending in each other’s arms making passionate love. It was late afternoon when we arrived at the cottages. A uniformed valet assisted Yvette out of the car. While we checked in, he drove the car to our cottage and brought the flowers into the room. Another valet transported us to the cottage in a horse … drawn buggy with seats of soft brown leather.

                    The cottage itself was nothing short of magnificent. It was completely surrounded by trees, creating the feeling of total privacy. The valet opened the intricately carved mahogany door and conducted us inside. The room was beautiful. It was made for lovers. The first thing we noticed was the view. The wall facing the ocean was glass from floor to ceiling, with nothing to obstruct our vision. The blue water seemed to begin at our feet and to stretch endlessly, until it faded into the misty horizon. Sea birds flew lazily by, their hoarse calls in harmony with the ocean’s musical roar.

                    Our suitcases had been unpacked for us, and the flowers arranged in vases throughout the luxurious room. The art deco furnishings were sparse, accentuating the importance of the huge platform bed that occupied the center of the room. Recessed into the floor next tp the glass wall, a redwood hot tub was already filled, the warm water steaming and bubbling, inviting lovers to partake of its sensuous delights. As the valet left, he handed me a menu and said, “You may call to order dinner, sir, whenever you are ready.” As soon as we were alone, I took Yvette in my arms and embraced her. I was already aroused by the thought of what lay ahead, and the warmth of her tall slender body increased the effect. I was beginning to feel a stir in my trousers. When Yvette pressed her lips to my ear and whispered, “It’s lovely,” I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the room or to my obvious erection. “I’m so glad .YOU brought me here.”

                    “I wanted it to be special,” I whispered. “And I have something very special for the occasion.” I handed her a gilt .. wrapped package that contained the negligee I had purchased. “Ooh, Henry, I love it,” she said as she removed the lacy garment from the box. “I can’t wait to wear it.” “Why wait, then?” I asked. “Why don’t you put it on now? I’d love to see you in it.” A few minutes later when she emerged from the dressing room wearing the opulent lingerie, I sighed lovingly. “You look beautiful,” I murmured. “Seeing you in that gown brings back our wedding night. It was years ago today, but it seems like just last week. And I’m just as excited about possessing you tonight as I was then.” “Oh, Henry,” she replied. “You make me feel young and vibrant. We’re going to make wonderful love tonight. Nothing could make it better.”

                    “Well,” I said slowly. “Maybe something could.” As I spoke, I stepped behind her, slipping the diamond necklace from my pocket. I guided her to the mirror so that she could watch as I put it on her. When the jewels were sparkling at her throat, she turned and kissed me again, this time with a burning passion that drove the tip of her tongue to flick lightly over my lips as a promise of things to come. By the time our sumptuous dinner arrived, the sun was beginning to set over the Pacific. Three waiters came to our room and prepared a table by the window, setting it with fine bone china. and Waterford crystal. Before leaving, they placed the food on our plates and lit candles in highly polished silver holders. We gazed at the sea as we dined on chateaubriand and sipped a rare vintage cabernet.

                    As the waiters reappeared, we ‘heard the strains of soft music. On the beach outside our window, a trio was playing a serenade for lovers. Yvette reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “You’re wonderful, Henry,” she murmured. I felt myself stirring to erection again. We watched the waiters prepare our crepe suzettes with movements that seemed choreographed to the music playing outside. Yvette’s face shone in the illumination of the flaming dessert, the dancing shadows playing over the curves of her body in the satin negligee. I couldn’t wait for the waiters to leave. I wanted to hold her in my· arms. When they were gone, I rose from my chair to stand behind her, stroking her hair and shoulders as she fed herself and me with alternate bites of the crepes. My excitement was rising. From the deepened rhythm of her breathing, I could tell that she too was becoming aroused. I slipped the fingers of both hands into the bodice of her negligee, tracing the curves of her rounded breasts. I heard her sigh.

                    Standing, she turned to face me and melted into my arms. Instinctively, our hips began grinding, pressing our pelvises together as we embraced. Her skin was soft and smooth, crying out for my caressing touch. “Thank you for being my wife,” I murmured, moving my hands slowly over her body to find the softness of her buttocks and her breasts. I felt like a horny young kid again. Without breaking lip contact, I eased the straps of Yvette’s negligee off her shoulders. She wriggled sensuously until the garment slid down her body to form a satin and lace puddle on the floor around her ankles. Moonlight streaming in through the window highlighted the swelling curves of her bosom. In the dim illumination, I could see the rosy disks of her nipples contracting to stand erect at the ends of breasts that were still remarkably firm and youthful. I fell to my knees and pressed my face against them. I licked her turgid blossoms, closing my lips over each of them to suck lightly. I could feel my manhood swelling within the confinement of my clothing. I wanted to be naked, as she was. Quickly, I rose to my feet and undressed. Then, taking my wife by the hand, I led her to the hot tub and assisted her into the steaming water. The tub was chest deep, and her breasts floated on the surface of the water, her nipples pointing erotically toward me.

                    The waiters had opened a bottle of champagne and left it in an ice bucket with two delicate crystal flutes by the side of the tub. Reaching for the bottle, I poured champagne into the flutes, handing one to Yvette. “To more blissful years,” I said, touching our glasses together and sipping with her. “You look more beautiful than ever,” I added, feeling the heated water bubbling around and between our naked bodies. This time when we kissed, she pressed herself against me. I felt the points of her nipples burning into my bare chest like smoldering embers and her hand searching between us for my hardness. We stood that way for a long while, kissing and stroking each other in the enveloping comfort of the heated water.

                    Her hand glided lovingly over the throbbing rigidity of my manhood. The combination of her touch. and the bubbles bursting against my naked skin lifted me to a state of pulsating excitement. I stroked her belly, moving my hand purposefully lower until my fingers encountered the wet fur of her pubis. Below the dense and curling triangle, her opening was moist. I slipped a finger inside, thrilled to find even more moisture within.

                    Taking advantage of the buoyancy, she gracefully lifted her body and wrapped her legs around my hips. My erection stood up to search for her feminine opening,· relishing the heated liquid that swirled and bubbled around it. I placed my hands on her waist, guiding her slowly downward until she was poised just above the tip of my throbbing member. With a sigh, she lowered herself onto me, burying my hardness in her tunnel by tantalizing degrees until I was deep inside the warmth of her womanhood. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, she ascended my staff, riding so high that for a moment I feared that the penetration would end. Then, reaching the pinnacle, she descended again, enveloping my pulsating flesh within her.

                    Unconsciously, we thrust in rhythm to the sound of waves crashing against the coastline. The moon shone on our writhing bodies, lighting the water that roiled around us and making us feel as though we were standing in the sea itself. We were both moved by the beauty of the moment, but even more by the rising excitement within our pounding loins. Without warning, my climax began. Then, as if cued by an unseen conductor, Yvette joined me. Together, we told the moon and the stars of the glory of our union. Even after the spasms of ecstasy were spent, we remained tangled in each other’s arms, bathing in the fluid of desire. I became hard again within minutes. When she felt my erection bumping demandingly against her, she hummed her approval. “Henry,” she said adoringly. “You’ve got the sexual energy of a teenager. Take me again. Oh, yes, take me again.”

                    Lifting her in my arms, I stepped up and out of the tub. With a strength that I had forgotten, I carried her, dripping, across the room to the immense platform bed and· laid her gently down on the sheet. She moaned and reached for me, encircling my neck in her loving. arms. I lowered my naked body onto her, my questing rod instantly finding its mark. As I slipped inside her, I pressed our bodies together, reveling in the sensuous softness of her breasts against my wet skin. We moved together for a long time, rising slowly to the peak of erotic pleasure and retreating deliberately to prolong the delight. Finally, when we could not draw our desperate contact out any longer, we came in uni. son, rolling and writhing in each other’s arms like young lovers. Afterward, we lay side by side in the night, enjoying the moonlit ocean view and fondling each other adoringly. Some time in the wee hours, we made love again, this time lazily and casually, celebrating the years we had spent learning about each other’s bodies, demonstrating our ability to please each other’s fancy and to satisfy each other’s needs. When the sun rose, we did it again, welcoming the new day as the beginning of our second quarter-century together.

                    I’m still drilling teeth for a living. And there are still some evenings when I don’t feel like doing anything but sit in front of the television set. with Yvette by my side. But we seem to have rediscovered the ecstasy of romantic sex. That anniversary trip was an erotic rebirth for us, inspiring us to relive the passionate excitement that brought us together in the first place. We talk about it sometimes, whispering in our bed as we begin our lovemaking. At our age it’s rather difficult to select a single experience and call it the ultimate. But, without a doubt, that erotic holiday at the honeymoon cottage ranks with the best sex we ever had.

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