Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category


Sunday, June 24th, 2018

One of the traits that characterize a mature person is the ability to delay gratification. An infant empties its bowels whenever it feels the urge. A lion begins feasting as soon as it has killed. An adult human being waits until the time is right, however. When we are hungry, we go to the store for bread. But no matter how famished we feel, we don’t usually eat it until we get all the way home. Even then, we are likely to wait until we have set the table and washed our hands. There are many reasons why we are willing to postpone our pleasures. It may be healthier to wait for the right surroundings. It may be more comfortable or more decorous. It may be important to make efficient use of our energy by getting necessary business out of the way before settling back to relax. We may have to work so that we can afford to play. There are occasions, though, when putting off the good times is a way of enhancing our enjoyment.

After a three day fast, a saltine cracker can seem like the best meal anyone ever ate. The starvation that sharpened our senses might have been imposed upon us by circumstances beyond our control. We might have been lost in the woods, for example, or suffering from an illness. On the other hand, we might have deliberately done without so that when finally we feasted we would better be able to appreciate the subtle flavors of our simple banquet. Similarly, a bout with sexual starvation can make the erotic encounter that follows it feel like the most satisfying experience ever. Some people discover this by accident, after undergoing forced separation from their lovers. Others make a game of it, deliberately postponing sexual contact to increase their sensual fulfillment. The stories in this blog are told by people who found that the best sex they ever had came after planned periods of abstinence.


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    Tuesday, June 12th, 2018

    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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      Thursday, June 7th, 2018

      April is thirty three and recently divorced. At five foot six, she is slim with a boyish figure that allows her to go braless most of the time. Her short dirty blonde hair frames a gamine face with brown saucer eyes that wear an expression of perpetual curiosity. April works as a secretary in the office of a large insurance company. She is a little nervous as she tells us about an experience that she frequently imagined but never expected to have.

      My marriage to Bill was a total disaster right from the very beginning. I guess our personalities just weren’t compatible. We fought over everything, rarely had fun together, and worst of all, didn’t even have good sex. For some reason which I still don’t understand, I stuck it out for nine years. Then everything fell apart. The only way for either of us to keep our sanity was to get divorced. I think our divorce was the only thing we didn’t argue about.

      Bill is a fairly successful architect, and I never had to work during our marriage. Even after the divorce, he agreed to a substantial settlement so that I still wouldn’t have to work if I didn’t want to. But the first thing I did was take word processing courses so I could go out and get a job. Otherwise, I think I would have gone crazy. I needed to meet people and I couldn’t think of any other way. The insurance company I work for owns and occupies an entire seven-story building. We even have our own cafeteria and health club. I’ve made quite a few friends there. Unfortunately, they’re all women. It’s amazing how many women my age are divorced or separated and in the same situation as I. We talk to each other about our problems all the time, but that doesn’t solve them. Before my divorce, Bill and I hardly ever had sex. Afterward, it didn’t get any better. If I didn’t do myself, I wouldn’t get any at all.

      I never masturbated much, even when I was a kid. I had a fairly strict religious upbringing. Deep down, I always believed that sex wasn’t really permissible unless it was aimed at reproduction. After the divorce, though, there were times when my urges would overcome me, and I would ·rub myself with my fingers until I found relief. I got the idea to buy a vibrator after listening to one ·of the women at the office describe the pleasure that it gave her to use one. It’s amazing how very explicit the conversations would get around lunch tables in the office cafeteria. Some of the women described their sex experiences in such intimate detail that I would feel a burning itch in my loins for the rest of the afternoon. Then in the evening I would spend hours alone in bed playing with my vibrator and imagining the acts and intimacies that they had discussed.

      Once, one of the women told about a time that Pat, a female claims adjuster, made a pass at her. She turned Pat down, of course. Then she took advantage of the first available opportunity to talk about it at lunch. I was shocked to learn that Pat was a lesbian. She was pretty and feminine looking, with blond hair, a knockout figure, and the kind of big breasts that men die for. I just couldn’t believe that anyone who looked like Pat would be interested in having sex with another woman. I wondered what sorts of things two women would do.

      Later that night, when· I was in bed touching myself, I pictured Pat touching another woman that way. I was horrified by the idea, but a little fascinated by it, too, I guess. As I imagined two women fingering each other and caressing each other’s breasts, I came to a fast and powerful orgasm. After that, I frequently conjured up the same image deliberately to excite myself when masturbating. I never would have admitted that to anyone, because it seemed so unnatural and sinful. Yet I couldn’t think of a sexier fantasy. When I fantasized about men, it sometimes took me a long, long time to have a climax. But picturing two women together never failed to bring me to a swift and satisfying finish.

      That’s probably why I was so nervous when Pat stepped up to my table one afternoon while I was having lunch alone. “Do you mind if I join you?” she asked. If I could have thought of a believable excuse, I would have. But there just wasn’t any graceful way out. “Not at all,” I said hesitantly. “I’m almost through anyway.” The big-bosomed claims adjuster set her tray on the table and sat in the chair opposite mine. “I’m Pat,” she said with a friendly smile. “I work on the fifth floor.” She was so warm that I was immediately at ease. “I know,” I said. “I’ve seen you around.” Remembering my manners, I added, “I’m April.” ”As fresh as a spring shower,” Pat quipped. I found myself liking this friendly woman. Conversation flowed so easily between us that for a while I forgot she was gay. She was just like anyone else, and nicer than lots of people I’ve known. We chatted about the weather and about events in the office, and discussed all the things that people talk about when they are getting acquainted. By the time lunch was over, we had become friends.

      It wasn’t until later that night that I remembered Pat’s sexual preference. I was watching television when my mind started wandering. I found myself trying to imagine what she’d look like without her clothes on and what she would do with another woman. The thoughts aroused me so much that I felt all moist and tingly. Without even bothering to turn off the TV, I reached for my vibrator, slipped out of my jeans and panties, and began pleasuring myself. I closed my eyes and pictured Pat’s huge breasts, imagining that her pink nipples were erect. My orgasm came almost immediately, rolling over me like a tidal wave. When it was through, l realized to my shock that my last mental image as I skyrocketed to ecstasy was of Pat’s naked body. Later, as I lay in bed, I pondered the strange thoughts that I was having. I couldn’t understand why I pictured a nude woman while masturbating or why my mind kept turning to fantasies of two women together. I knew that I found the idea fascinating and extremely exciting, and this scared me.

      It was against everything I believed in. When I was young I was taught that sex was for making babies. I know that most of the time it doesn’t lead to that, but at least between a man and woman it’s always a possibility. Between two women, there can never be anything more than lust. Maybe that’s what intrigued me so much about it. I lay awake most of the night, feeling guilty about my fantasies. Then, toward morning, I began to see it in a different light. Fantasies are like dreams. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming. If the thought of sex between women was exciting to me, I was entitled to amuse myself with it. As long as it was only a thought, how could it hurt? I made up my mind to put guilt aside. My dreams were harmless, and there was no reason why I shouldn’t have them.

      Pat and I had lunch together frequently after that. I looked forward to my conversations with her. They were personal and candid, but the topic of sex was never a part of them. She did mention once that ‘she was homosexual, but neither of us brought it up again. We started seeing each other outside the office, meeting occasionally for dinner or a drink. I began to think of Pat as one of my closest friends.

      Sometimes in the evening when I was alone at home playing with myself, I allowed myself to imagine Pat doing things to me. I pictured her hands and even her lips bringing pleasure to the sensitive tissues of my body. I tried to move my fingers as I thought she would do. When I stroked my pleasure button with the tip of my vibrator, I pretended Pat was holding it. There were times I felt guilty, but I reminded myself that it was only a . dream arid that it could never actually happen in real life. During the day, when I was having lunch with Pat and chatting about everyday activities, I wondered what Pat would think if she knew the role she played in my dreams. I also wondered if she ever fantasized about having sex with me. I toyed with the idea of asking her, but then decided it was best if I kept my secret dreams to myself. I was afraid that bringing sex out into the open would somehow spoil our friendship.

      By this time, our relationship had come to mean a great deal to me. That’s why I was so upset when Pat broke the news. She told me she had been offered a great job in another city and that she had accepted it. She would be moving away in just a few weeks. I was devastated. In the time that remained, Pat and I saw more of each other than ever before. I helped get her things together for the move, filling out dozens of change. .o f.. address cards and hauling empty cartons from the grocery store for packing. I knew that I was going to miss my new friend terribly. On her last day at the office, there was a little party for her. Drinks were served, and by the time it was over, I was already feeling a little tipsy. After work, I went with Pat to her apartment to help with last minute details. When we finished put .. ting the last strip of tape on the last of the cartons, Pat took a bottle of wine from the cabinet.

      ”I saved the good stuff for a going .. away celebration,” she said, removing the cork and tipping the bottle into a couple of glasses. Raising mine, I toasted, “To your continued success and our continued friendship.”· Pat hugged me warmly before we sipped together. We drained the bottle completely and were into a second one before I realized it. “I’m really going to miss you, Pat,” I said, copious tears flowing down my cheeks. “You’re the best friend I’ve had.” My shoulders started to shake as I began sobbing. Pat moved over next to me on the couch and placed a comforting arm around me. “We’ll still be in touch, April,” she said. “We can talk on the phone every day.” Her tenderness touched me so that I started crying even harder. Pat held me tighter, stroking my hair and murmuring words of comfort. When I buried my face in her shoulder, sobbing like a child, she kissed my forehead lightly. “Don’t cry, April,” she whispered.

      The next thing I knew, she was kissing me on the lips. It was a soft and friendly kiss at first. Without thinking, I returned it. It felt like a natural exchange between close friends. Gradually, her lips increased the pressure, and so did mine. Before either of us realized what was happening, the contact became passionate. I felt her nibbling at my lips, alternately tantalizing them with soft strokes of her tongue and pressing them heatedly. Involuntarily, I responded, kissing her as I had never kissed Bill. Our tongues played hide-and-seek from her mouth to mine. Our breathing became deep and labored. The tension that I was feeling began to dissolve, leaving me comfortable and relaxed in the arms of my woman friend.

      Once it began, our embrace moved forward without shame or hesitation. Pat cradled me in the encircling security of her arms. Her hands moved over my back, petting and stroking me until I felt like purring. She pressed the front of her body against mine, exciting me with the softness of her breasts. “I want to touch you,” she whispered, slipping one of her hands under my sweater. I was wearing no bra. I trembled, not with fear but with burning excitement, as her gentle fingers moved over the smooth skin ~f my belly’ exploring higher until they found the small mounds of my breasts. At first she stroked little circles around their quivering tips, as if afraid that direct contact would break the spell~ My nipples were hard, and I wanted her to touch them. I moved my body to bring her fingertips into contact with the turgid buttons.

      When I ·first felt her fingers grazing them, I moaned softly with pleasure. Emboldened by the sound, Pat took the erect cones between her thumbs and forefingers, rolling them expertly until my entire body was on fire. I had fantasized about her doing this to me so many times that her touch felt almost familiar. I closed my eyes and allowed the waves of pleasure to engulf me. I wanted to touch her, too. More than anything, I wanted to see her breasts. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. Reading my mind, Pat leaned away from me and unbuttoned her blouse. I became frantically excited at the glimpse of white lace that covered her. Without a thought, I reached out, placing my hands inside her open blouse and running my fingers over the delicate fabric of her undergarment.

      “Oh,” I said. “You have such big, beautiful breasts.” “Would you like to see them?” Pat asked softly in a trembling voice. I realized that she was even more nervous than I was. “Ooh, yes,” I answered, reaching behind her to undo hooks and eyes with shaking fingers. Gracefully, she moved her arms and slipped out of blouse and bra in one quick gesture. Her breasts were high and round, with nipples even bigger and pinker than I had imagined. I was in awe. “Pat,” I whispered. “I always wished I had boobs like yours. They’re beautiful.”

      Pat cupped the two globes in her hands and held them up to me. “I’ve been dying to show them to you,” she said. “And I’ve been dying to see yours.” Without waiting for further encouragement, I stripped my sweater over my head. I had always felt that my breasts were too small and unfeminine, but the excited gasp that came from Pat’s lips made me feel good about them. “I love your little titties,” my friend whispered, moving her hands from her own large breasts to my small ones. My nipples were so hard that they felt like rocks. I closed my eyes and let her thrill me. “I want to see all of you,” Pat said eagerly. “Let’s both get completely naked.”

      I don’t remember either of us undressing, but within moments our clothes were scattered carelessly around the room, and we were looking hungrily at each other’s bodies. Pat groaned when she saw my thick and tangled bush. Hers was sparser, the curling golden hair looking soft and silky. “I want to touch your breasts,” I murmured, nervous with excitement. Without waiting another moment, I took the ripe mounds in my hands. I had never touched another woman’s boobs before. I couldn’t believe how good it felt.

      When my hands started to knead and squeeze the resilient flesh, her nipples swelled up like cherries. Instinctively, I took one in my mouth, sucking lightly on it. Then I held both of them in my hands. Pat’s moan of pleasure excited me. It was thrilling to give so much satisfaction to another person. I was getting to live out the dream that I had been enjoying for so many lonely nights. As in the fantasy, I felt Pat’s hands on my small breasts, twirling the erect nipples. I tried to follow her example, attempting to touch her in exactly the same way she was touching me.

      We sat naked on the couch for a long time, each of us holding the other’s breasts, each of us demonstrating to the other what pleased us most. When her fingers found an especially sensitive place on my nipples, I looked for the corresponding spot on hers. We learned about ourselves and each other as we enjoyed our mutual exploration.

      I sucked on Pat’s cherry nipples, rolling my tongue over their erectness while listening to my friend’s sensuous moans. Leaning back, I closed my eyes to let her suck on mine. Her tongue traced circles around them, bringing me more pleasure than I had ever known.

      I was so wet between the legs that I could feel moisture coating the white skin of my inner thighs. In my dreams, Pat always did mysterious things to me down there. I wondered if anything like that could really happen. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. While Pat’s lips were nibbling at the ends of my breasts, I boldly placed my hand on the back of her head. Pressing gently, I guided her face downward until her mouth moved lower and lower across my belly. At last I could feel her hot breath against the lips of my opening. For a moment, I was scared. Excitement replaced fear when I felt her kissing lightly at my feminine tissues.

      Nothing in ~Y life ever felt that good. Bill never put his mouth anywhere near my sex. The closest I ever came to experiencing it before was in my dreams. And then it was always Pat who was doing it. Now, as her mouth glided over my vulva, my hot passion mingled with the excitement of living out a fantasy that I had never expected to come true. Even in my dreams, I didn’t imagine specifically what her mouth would be doing to me. Every touch of her lips and tongue was an exciting surprise. I felt her nibble at my sensitive membranes, the grazing softness of her lips opening me farther and farther. Then I felt the tip of her tongue sink inside with a gentleness that a penis could never master. It drove deeper and deeper until I could feel the lips of her mouth press against my sex lips.

      I groaned, my eyes shut tightly. Fantastic images were spinning in my brain while thrills of erotic excitement set me quivering. I could almost see the droplets of moisture that oozed from me. I could almost taste the spice of the lovejuices that fl.owed so freely. I wanted to do to Pat the things she was doing to me. I wanted to see her opening, to smell it, to press my face into it. I wanted to tongue her the same way she was tonguing me. I wanted to give back some of the pleasure I was receiving.

      Pat must have sensed my hunger. Guiding me with hands on my naked hips, she moved me from the couch to the carpeted floor. I lay on my back with my legs splayed wide, my womanhood completely open to her gaze, to her touch, vulnerable to anything she wanted to do to it. Pat straddled me, her knees. on either side of my head, her body facing my feet. The open gash of her turgid vagina was just above my mouth. I had never really seen a woman’s sex organ up close before. Not even my own. Pat’s was beautiful. It looked like an exotic flower, a lovely rose-colored orchid. She lowered her face until her lips and tongue were in contact again with my female opening. This brought her crotch lower· until it was floating just above me.

      I inhaled, smelling the fragrant musk of her excited femininity. I wanted to taste her. Raising my head slightly, I pressed my lips against the glistening membranes. In my dreams, I had always been the recipient of pleasure. I had never even imagined doing what I was doing now. My excitement overcame me, though, and I reached tentatively out with my tongue to lap fascinatingly at Pat’s labia. I couldn’t believe how exotically good she tasted. Becoming bolder, I began to lick. her crack with the same enthusiasm that she showed as she licked me. Simultaneously, we plunged each other’s depths with swabbing strokes of our tongues. I felt her mouth working its way higher, toward the quivering point of desire at the head of my clitoris. When she dabbed it carefully with the tip of her tongue, the sensation was exquisite. An involuntary cry of excitement tore from my throat. Encouraged by it, Pat began sucking my little love button hungrily, making me sob and pant with delight.

      Wanting to give her as much pleasure as she was giving me, I began searching for the center of her sex, moving my tongue in widening circles until it encountered the erection of her clit. Her· hips bucked wildly, pressing her dampness against my face. I continued to explore her lingually, searching for the most sensitive spot. Pat groaned loudly in response to my gentle sucking of her
      clitoris. The sound made her lips and throat vibrate, tantalizing my ganglion until I thought I would die of pleasure. She lapped figure eights around my button, setting off a series of bubbling reactions in my loins. I reciprocated, sucking her sex as though I had been doing it all my life. When I felt her jerk, I knew instinctively that her climax was beginning. My own was forming too, like a volcano beneath the surface of my sex. It was burgeoning, looming larger and higher with each breath I took. I wanted to postpone it for as long as I could, to put it off so that I could concentrate all my energies on my friend and on her sexual satisfaction.

      I opened my eyes to stare at the drooling opening of her sex, my mouth working her clit feverishly. I was sure that I could taste the juices of her orgasm flowing. Her body was twitching and convulsing uncontrollably, waves of pleasure robbing her of all control. When she reached the peak of ecstasy, she screamed once, long and loud. I knew that was the signal for me to let myself go. Groaning· and sobbing, I poured forth the pent-up energy of sexual release. Flashes of pleasure wracked my body, making me roll and writhe beneath her. All the while, her lips continued nibbling at me, bringing shuddering wave after shuddering wave to my exploding groin. I had never dreamed anything could feel this good. It was the longest and the best orgasm I ever had in my life.

      We seemed to drift into a state of semiconsciousness for a while. When I was aware again of what was happening, I found us lying side by side exhausted on the floor. Pat was worried, apparently concerned that this unexpected experience would damage our friendship. “April,” she said. “I didn’t mean for this … ” I just giggled. ”It was the best sex I ever had,” I said, putting her at ease. “It was a wonderful going-away present we gave to each other. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.”

      I’ve never had another experience with Pat, or with any other woman, for that matter. I guess it was just a one-time thing. But I’m not the least bit sorry about it. Sometimes it seems like just another one of those sexy masturbation fantasies that I dream when I play with myself at night. It really happened, though. I’m glad my dream came true.


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        Thursday, June 7th, 2018

        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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          CAMPING OUT

          Saturday, June 2nd, 2018

          Neal played football when he was in college and still looks it even though he is now thirty-two years old. His rippling muscles and flat abdomen make it obvious that he works at staying in good shape. His straw-colored hair has a way of falling in front of his light brown eyes that makes him appear boyish and uncertain. As a lawyer, however, he is known to be a tough adversary. His wife, Karen, a high school principal, is thirty-three. Neal says the best sex he ever had was on a camping trip he and Karen took on an impulse one weekend .

          I was a pretty good football player in college. And Karen was a cheerleader. She was really something. I guess we both lost interest in sports after college. I stayed in shape, but Karen has gotten a little chunky over the years. Not that it bothers me. I think flesh is sexy. Anyway, this incident happened last year during the World Series. Those games were all anybody around here could talk about. Our friends, our neighbors, my law partners, everyone had baseball fever. Everyone but us, that is. I’m not sure whether it was Karen or me, but one of us got the idea that with everybody else home watching what could be the last game of the Series, it would be· a great weekend fortaking a trip. We decided to go camping-something we do infrequently enough for it to still be an enjoyable novelty. I borrowed a tent from one of my partners, threw the sleeping bags in the trunk of the car, and we headed out of town. We were planning to get in a bit of weekend screwing and were both excited about the idea of sex in a tent.

          We drove for about two-and-a-half hours. As we traveled, we whiled away the time making sex talk. Karen said that she wanted to be sure to find a secluded campsite, because she had big plans for the night. When she started describing the things she was going to do to me, I became painfully excited. That was what she had in mind, of course. She continued teasing me until I felt like I would wet myself. Every now and then, she even reached over and stroked me through my pants to magnify my arousal. Not to be outdone, I began describing the lewdest sex acts I could imagine, until I could tell by the way Karen was breathing that I was getting to her. We rode that way the whole time, kind of having a contest to- see who could create the most erotic images with words. By early afternoon, we were both trembling with sexual excitement and eager to get camped.

          We started looking for campground signs, considering several before we decided to stop. The one we chose was about three miles off the highway on a heavily wooded hillside. The dirt road that led to it was flanked by a riotous array of autumn wildflowers. I stopped the car for a moment and got out to pick a huge feathery pink blossom. When I got back into the car, I stroked Karen’s face with it seductively. Then I touched it to each of her breasts and kissed it before handing it to her. When I drove forward, I knew that she was thinking about sex. And so was I.

          At the entrance to the campground, there was a cabin with a sign on it that said OFFICE. Parking in front, I went inside while Karen waited in the car. In the office, a gray-haired man sat in an easy chair staring at the baseball game on TV. Without looking up at me, he said, “Guess you’re not a baseball fan. Everybody else is home watching the game. You’ve got the place to yourself. Pick any campsite you want and pay me on the way out.”

          ”We have the run of the place,” I told Karen as I got back into the car. Driving slowly around the grounds, we looked for the ideal campsite. Each one was equipped with a picnic table, a water faucet, and a trash can. Even though there weren’t any other people on the grounds, Karen was disturbed that the campsites were so close together. We kept cruising until we found a fiat spot on top of a low hill. It was a little more private, because there was only enough level ground for two sites. We chose one of them, confident that we would have all the solitude we wanted. The borrowed tent came with an instruction sheet, but it took me quite a while to figure it out and set it up. While I was doing so, ‘Karen spread our picnic things on the table and inflated the air mattresses with a foot pump. When we both had finished, we put the air mattresses inside the tent and unrolled our sleeping bags, zipping them together to make a double bag big enough for the two of us.

          We were sitting down at the picnic table to rest after our labors when a car passed the campsite, slowing down as it went by. Karen and I were worried about losing our privacy until the other car drove on. They were obviously inspecting the campground before selecting their spot, just as we had done. A few minutes later, however, the car returned and pulled into the other campsite. I looked around to see whether the rest of the campground had suddenly gotten crowded, but except for the young couple in the car, we were the only people there. Karen and I looked at each other in disbelief. With all of the empty campsites, why did they have to pick this one? Their picnic table was directly across from ours. The way our tent was set up, they would be blocking our view no matter where they pitched theirs. As they got out of their car, Karen whispered, ”Should we move to another spot?” Thinking about how much work it had been to set up the tent, I answered, “They might not be staying. Let’s just wait awhile and see what happens.” ”All right,” Karen said, perhaps a little relieved herself that she wouldn’t have to defiate and reinfiate the mattresses. “But if they don’t leave, promise me we can kill them.” We sat together watching sullenly as the other couple pulled a few things out of their car. They were both in their early twenties, clean cut, slim, and athletic-looking: They all appeared to be a couple of college kids. “Oh, shit,” Karen said. “They’ve got a tent. They must be here to stay.”

          As the young woman unpacked a bag of groceries, her boyfriend began pitching a tent. It consisted of a canvas roof with four walls made of clear mosquito netting-the kind of tent that is usually used as an outdoor dining room. I was relieved. “Don’t worry,” I told Karen. “Nobody sleeps in a tent like that. They’re probably just here for a picnic. They picked this spot because of the view. I’m sure they’ll be gone before dark.” The fellow had the tent up within minutes. By now his girlfriend had finished what she was doing and was sitting on top of the picnic table with her feet on a bench. He sat down beside her and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Isn’t that sweet,” Karen muttered sarcastically.

          I glanced casually up at them and noticed that the light kiss had turned into a passionate liplock. His mouth was pressed hungrily to hers, and his arms were wound tightly around her. I could see his tongue working its way into her mouth to duel with hers. I could even hear the soft moans of their passion. I leaned toward Karen to suggest in a whisper that she take a look at a . the show, but she was one step ahead of me, obviously entranced by the physical display. I nudged her, and she turned her head slightly so that her curious stare would not be noticed. I could tell that she was still watching from the comer of her eye, though. It was doubtful that the young couple would have seen us watching at that point, because their eyes were tightly shut and they were engrossed in each other. I must admit that I found the scene extremely exciting. I know that Karen did; too. My wife moved over next to me and rubbed her body kittenishly against mine.

          As he kissed her, the young man placed his hands on the woman’s chest. He pushed her gently backward until her back . was flat against the table, her feet remaining on the bench. Continuing to kiss her, he began roaming freely over the swell of her bosom with his hands. I know I was openly staring now. The woman made no objection as he cupped her breasts through her sweatshirt, slowly and languidly stroking each one. I could tell from the way the material outlined her nipples that she was not wearing a bra. He kneaded her flesh softly, bringing quiet moans of pleasure· from her throat. . I looked at Karen to make sure that she wasn’t missing the action. Now she too was openly staring, not even attempting a pretext of looking anywhere else. I turned back to the passionate couple, watching them candidly.

          One of his hands moved slowly across her belly toward the waistband of her sweatshirt. As her body began to writhe slowly against the table, he slid his hand inside. Through the blue cloth of the sweatshirt, I could see his fingers closing over . the mound of her firm young breast. My erection was straining against my pants, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing but stare at the unashamed display of lust. I turned to look at Karen again and saw the expression on her face change suddenly. Quickly, I glanced back at our campsite neighbors just in time to see him pull up her sweat .. shirt, completely exposing her bare breasts. He stroked them lightly, rolling her bright pink nipples between his fingers.

          Then, leaning over her, he began to lick gently at the turgid flesh. I hated to lose sight of her naked bosom, but his head blocked it from view for the moment. Without realizing, I put my arm around Karen’s shoulders, feeling her melt against me. The young man began moving rhythmically from one nipple to the other, letting me see each of them in tum. They were wet with his saliva, glistening in the failing light of early evening. He stopped sucking her breasts and began to nuzzle and kiss her face again. I heard them giggling and whispering to each other, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. They both. glanced in our direction at the same time, catching us an instant before we managed to look away. From the comer of my eye, I saw the woman sit up and adjust her sweatshirt. To my disappointment, she was covering herself. I heard them laugh, and I was sure they were laughing at us.

          The young lovers began puttering around their picnic table, preparing themselves some kind of meal. “Too bad the show’s over,” Karen muttered. “I was beginning to think they were actually going to do it right here and now.” “Well, I don’t know about you,” I said softly, although actually I did, “but I’ve seen enough to get me warmed up. They might not be doing it, but we soon will be. It’s going to be dark soon. And then we’re going to have some fun.” We started getting our own supper together without paying any more attention to the couple. I was sure that they would pack up and leave as soon as they had eaten. Although I wanted privacy, I was a little sorry that we wouldn’t get to see more.

          By the time we finished eating and cleaning up, it was almost dark. Karen helped me store our stuff in the trunk of the car, and then we went into our tent. Since it wasn’t quite tall enough for us to stand up in, we crawled into the sleeping bag and wriggled out of our clothes. I left the tent flaps open so we would be able to look out at the sky and stars. Our uninhibited neighbors had finished their cleaning up, and I fully expected that any minute they would take down their tent and pack up to leave. I was somewhat surprised when, instead, they got a pair of sleeping bags from their car and unrolled them on the floor of their tent. I could just make out their outlines in the moonlight. “Looks like they’re staying,” I whispered to Karen. “Too bad it’s dark, or I’ll bet we’d really see something.” As I spoke, the young man struck a match. In the light of the flickering flame, I could see them both clearly through the transparent walls of their tent. A moment later, the tableau was brightly illuminated. He had lit a lantern and hung it from one of the inside tent poles.

          Karen and I stared wide-eyed as the woman undid the buttons of her boyfriend’s pants and began pushing them down over his hips. He wore no underwear, and his semi-erect cock sprang immediately into view. He stood like that with his jeans halfway down his thighs while she stroked him to total hardness. Then he stepped out of them, drew his shirt off over his head, and posed totally naked. Karen was trying not to show it, but I could see that she was fascinated by the sight of his organ. “It’s big, all right,” I whispered, to let her know that I didn’t mind her looking. “This may tum out to be better than we expected.” I could feel my wife’s hand moving across my thigh, seeking my swollen penis.

          We watched together as the man in the tent drew the woman’s sweatshirt slowly off her. When she was naked from the waist up, she arched her back, thrusting her youthful breasts in our direction. She cupped the pale globes in her hands and lifted them slightly, as if offering them for our enjoyment. ”They know we’re watching,” I whispered to Karen. ”They want us to see them. I’ll bet that’s why they picked this particular campsite.” “Do you really think so, Neal?” my wife asked, incredulous. “Of course,” I answered. “Just watch. If they really wanted privacy, they wouldn’t keep the lantern on. I’ll bet they don’t put it out.” I was right. Without even turning their backs, they moved into each other’s arms and embraced. We could see her breasts pressing flat against his chest, her pink nipples raking his skin. His hands were working on the buttons at the front of her jeans. As they kissed, he undid them and slipped the denim garment down over her hips. She wore nothing now but a wisp of red lace across her loins. The tiny triangle of material framed the white melons of her ass, pulling tight into the valley between them.

          A moment later, he fell to his knees in front of her and pressed his face to her groin, slowly drawing the panties down her shapely legs. Her curling delta of venus was dark and mysterious, clearly visible to our gaze when he drew his face back for a long thorough look of his own. Then he pressed forward again, nuzzling at her sex with his nose and lips. From the expression of bliss that came over her face and the sounds of pleasure that issued from her throat, his tongue must have been probing her slit. I heard Karen’s breathing deepen as she pressed herself against me. Her hand was moving quickly up and down over my throbbing erection, bringing waves of sensation to my entire body. I could feel my wife’s big breasts soft against my naked chest. I could smell the spicy scent of her arousal as we watched the young couple perform in the bright light of their lantern.

          The woman bent her knees slightly to open herself wider, reaching down with both hands to grab him by the hair and pull his face more tightly against her. He held her buttocks in his hands, his fingers digging into the white flesh, kneading and squeezing as he drew her more firmly against him. She began to sob, twisting her face into a mask of passion. “Oh,” we heard her wail. “I’m going to come. Oh, yes, lick me. Oh, suck me. Oh, yes, I’m going to come.” Karen’s fingertips were grazing lightly over the skin of my scrotum and the base of my penis, sending thrills of excitement all through me. She rolled onto her back and pulled me toward her, using my cock as a handle. I mounted her and moved my hips forward as she guided me into her. When we looked across the clearing again, the woman was getting down onto her hands and knees. She was facing away from us, and we could look right into the open plane of her sex, her ass and pussy totally exposed to our hungry eyes. Some of the pubic hair grew back into her crack to frame the winking eye of her anus.

          He stood over her, staring down at her nakedness and stroking himself casually, as if giving us a chance to get a good long look before mounting her. Then, squatting behind her, he held his stiff cock in his fingers and inched toward her. Because of the angle of their bodies, we could see clearly the tip of his erection approaching her open slit. Bending over her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and thrust his hips forward, doglike, to bury himself deep inside her. We could see the end of his penis pressing against the lips of her pussy, . spreading the wet flanges until the opening turned inward to accept him. Then, as we watched, his dick disappeared inside her in one long, slow, sinking stroke. Rhythmically, he moved forward and back, his testicles swinging with each motion. He increased the momentum of his thrusts until his sac struck her white skin every time he drove into her.

          Unconsciously, Karen and I matched their bouncing rhythm. My wife’s back arched and her hips thrust upward to meet my drives. Her legs wrapped tightly around my thighs. Our bodies melted together as we openly stared at the copulating couple. The girl was sobbing and throwing her ass back at her lover. “I’m going to come again,” she cried. “I’m going to come again. Oh, pump your come into me. Fill me up with it. Come with me. Come with me. Come with me.” Her words became a rhythmic chanting song that seemed to carry him to the point of orgasm. “Yes,” he groaned loudly. “I’m going to shoot it to you.” He made a sound like a wild animal caught in a trap and seemed to lose control of his body, bucking and thrusting violently. At that very moment, I felt my own orgasm begin. I looked down at Karen and saw that she was looking back at me. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Neal. I’m ready, too.” As if her words gave me the permission I needed, I immediately began shooting my sperm inside her. Karen stiffened and relaxed, her body sending signals of climax that I had long ago learned to recognize. We got so wrapped up in our own orgasms that for a few moments we completely lost track of the other couple. When we looked at them again, the young woman was lying face down on her sleeping bag with her man on top of her. His cock remained buried inside her, but their bodies were still.

          Karen and I dozed for a while. When we woke up a few hours later, the lantern in the other tent had been turned off, and the night was totally dark. We whispered softly about what we had witnessed until we were both tremendously aroused. Then we made love again. We made love twice more that night, stimulated by our voyeuristic experience. When the sun woke us the following morning, the young couple was gone, leaving no evidence that they had ever been there. The campground remained pretty much deserted the next day, so we decided to stay another night. Several times during the day we slipped into our tent for more sex. Neither of us seemed able to get enough. Neither one of us could get the visions of what we had seen out of our minds.

          To this day we talk about that episode whenever we want to add a little more excitement to our lovemaking. It has given us some pretty good times. But I’d have to say that the best sex we ever had occurred that World Series weekend when we camped and watched.


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            Wednesday, May 30th, 2018

            amateur milf blowjob

            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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              Wednesday, May 30th, 2018

              No race of creatures can exist unless it is endowed with a desire for reproduction. In order to strengthen this desire in humans, Nature decorated our reproductive organs with tufts of curling hair and splashes of dramatic color to make them particularly interesting. In addition, our brains were wired with circuits that excite us upon seeing another’s naked body or knowing that another is looking at ours. Humans are not the only animals on Earth that have been blessed in these ways. Baboons wear bright colors to call attention to their genitals. Female goats who want sex wave their tails repeatedly so that the sight of their distended pudenda will attract males. When animals see other animals having intercourse, they may become so aroused that they are driven to a frenzy of violent sexual activity themselves.

              Prohibitions against public sex are common in human societies. Some analysts claim that these rules exist because of fears that such displays will excite bystanders to the point of uncontrollable eroticism. In addition to disrupting the social order, there is the danger that this will interfere with productivity and promote physical aggression. As a result, we are trained, from the time of our births, to believe that sex should happen only behind closed doors and shuttered windows. We learn to call our sex organs “private parts” and to regard people who display them as perverts or even criminals. We have laws that prohibit the exposure of the breasts and regulate the size and shape of bikinis worn on public beaches.

              Most people can live comfortably with these rules. For some, however, the desire to see and be seen is a powerful erotic stimulant. When faced with the opportunity to observe others engaging in sex, they seize it without hesitation. When given the occasion to exhibit their own sexuality, they jump at the chance. These experiences are so unusual that those who have known them frequently declare that they were the best sex they ever had.

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                THE MATINEE

                Thursday, May 10th, 2018

                Sheila, a charming, voluptuous woman of forty-one, usually keeps her long light brown hair tied back to prevent it from falling in front of her dark eyes as she works in her specially outfitted kitchen. She operates a successful business at home, baking pies for many local restaurants. When her husband, Dave, is not delivering the pies, he a5sists her in the kitchen. At a height of five foot-four, Sheila is about twenty-five pounds overweight, hiding the excess flesh under a loose-fitting dress. There is a chuckle in her voice when she exclaims, “Never trust a skinny baker!” Sheila says that the best sex she and Dave ever had took place unexpectedly one Sunday afternoon.

                I love working at home. It lets me spend lots of time with the kids. Dave and I have two teenagers. Millie’s fifteen, and Tess is twelve. We just love them to death, but sometimes kids can really get on your nerves. That’s what was happening that day. It was a Sunday, just a few months ago. We work hard all week, sometimes for ten or eleven hours a day. Sunday is our day off. Usually we just hang around the house watching TV and relaxing. But this particular Sunday didn’t feel like a day off at all.

                For one thing, Millie had volunteered us to make cookies for a fundraiser at her high school, and we worked on them for most of the morning. Talk about a baker’s holiday. Then Tess was whining about something or other and driving me absolutely nuts. When the last batch of cookies came out of the oven, I took off my apron and tossed it to Millie. “All right,” I said. “It’s your project. You can clean up. Your daddy and I are going out for a while.” Dave just stared at me without saying a word and followed me out the front door.

                As soon as we were outside, he said, ”Hey, babe, what was all that about? Where are we going?” “I don’t know,” I told him. “I just needed to get away.” I stood in the driveway for a moment, looking around. Then, because I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I said, “Let’s go to the supermarket. Not the one around the comer. Let’s go to that fancy one across town. I could use a nice long walk.” “Sure, babe,” Dave answered, falling into step beside me. “You’re stressed. I can see it. A good walk will do us both some good.”

                We strode briskly for a few blocks, working off some of the steam that had been building. Then, feeling a bit more relaxed, I slowed our pace to a casual stroll. As we walked, I looked around at the neighborhood. We had reached a commercial district, and there were lots of interesting businesses lining the street.

                I usually drive every place I go, concentrating on the road rather than the scenery. This was fun, especially since we hadn’t planned it. “Look at all these stores,” I said to Dave. “I didn’t even know they were here.” We stopped for a moment to look into the window of an antiques shop, admiring the old clocks and knickknacks. The next place was a jewelry store, and ·I stood in front of it checking out the diamond rings. After a minute, Dave grabbed my arm and said, “Come on, let’s keep walking.”

                “Relax,” I answered sharply. “It doesn’t cost anything to look. And anyway, it’s safe. The place is closed on Sunday.” I was just needling him. I wasn’t really all that interested.

                We picked up speed as we started walking again, but suddenly Dave stopped to stare into a shop that sold sexy lingerie. I stood next to him, paying more attention to him than ·to the stuff in the window. I got a kick out of the expression on his face as he looked at the lacy wisps that passed for bras and the little nothings they called panties. “Like what you see?” I asked him. He grinned, embarrassed. “I was just picturing you in some of that stuff,” he said. I noticed that he was getting kind of stiff in the pants. I knew very well that my big butt would never fit into those teeny G-strings, but I sure was glad Dave didn’t see it that way. Looking at the sexy undergarments in the window, I caught my reflection in the glass. I was wearing a shapeless flowered dress that hung on me like a sack. I was a sight. I had walked out of the house without a bra. In fact, I didn’t even have any underpants on.

                Dave was so busy studying the display of what they call “intimate apparel” that I doubt if he even noticed. I never knew him to be interested in window .. shopping before. I practically had to drag him away from there. I could see a movie theater in the middle of the next block. I didn’t have any intention of going inside, but I always liked looking at the movie scenes in the still pictures they put up in front of a theater. I quickened my step, curious to see what was playing. When we got there, I was a little startled.

                The theater certainly belonged on the same street as the lingerie shop. The marquee had four huge X’s on it. The titles of the films they were showing were something like Horny Sex Kittens and Lustful Appetites. It was a porno theater. I moved into the area next to the ticket booth to study the photos on display. In one of them, a woman with huge boobs was tied down spread-eagled on a bed. She was naked, but a little black rectangle had been colored in over her genitals. There were four naked men standing around the bed, also covered by black rectangles. One of them had a rectangle that reached almost to his knee. I studied the picture, wondering if his thing could really be that big. Right alongside that one, another picture showed a woman sandwiched in between two men. One of the men had his back to the camera. No one had bothered to put a rectangle over his ass. I looked at it for a minute, thinking about the woman in the picture.

                I couldn’t exactly see what was happening, but I sure could imagine it. It looked like the men were filling both her openings at the same time. I found the thought deliciously exciting. I wondered whether the movie showed the scene in more explicit detail. Dave began tugging at my arm. He looked kind of nervous. “Come on, babe,” he said insistently. “I don’t think this is the kind of place you want to be standing in front of. Let’s get going.” The soles ·of my shoes slipped on the pavement as he tried yanking me away from there. Suddenly, I felt mischievous. “Wait a minute, Dave,” I said. “Why don’t you take me inside?” I was only kidding when I said it, but once the words were out, i realized that I did want to see what the movie was like.

                “Are you nuts?” he asked, a look of disbelief on his face. “You can’t go into a place like that. There are all sorts of perverts in there.” · “So what?” I said. “I’ll have you to protect me. Come on. I’ve never seen a .porno movie. I’m dying to see what it’s all about.” . “Not now,” he said, still trying to talk me out of it. “The kids are home waiting for us.” “Let ’em wait,” I answered. “I’m not ready to go home yet. Come on, Dave. I dare you.”

                “I think you’re serious,” he said, laughing. “You’re damn right, I’m serious,” I insisted. “I dare you, Dave. I dare you.” I watched Dave’s expression change. He never could turn down a dare. Without another word, he dug some money out of his pocket and stepped up to the ticket window. “Two, please,” he said. Waving the tickets in front of my face, he took my arm and led me inside.

                When we walked in, there were images flickering across the screen, but the theater was so dark that I stumbled. “Here,” Dave whispered hoarsely. “Let’s just sit back here until our eyes get accustomed to the darkness.” I wanted to get closer to the screen, but Dave’s suggestion seemed like a good one. We picked our way over a few seats until we reached the center of the last row. Suddenly, I felt a little nervous. Anxiously, I glanced around, trying to see whether there were any perverts sitting near us. The place was practically empty. There were just a few people scattered here and there watching the screen. They were all men and they all looked pretty normal to me. Feeling a little more secure, I turned to look at the movie.

                The timing was perfect. There on the screen was the sandwich scene from the picture outside. The woman was young-in her mid-twenties, I’d say. Somehow I had always figured that porno actress were tired old hags. I was kind of surprised at how good-looking this one was. The two men with her were helping her get undressed. She was already down to bra and panties. One of the men was standing behind her, unhooking her bra, while the other was tugging at the waistband of her panties. Her undergarment, Its were lacy and brief. They looked like they could have come straight from the window Dave had been staring into just down the street. I must say that the sight of the two men removing those last bits of clothing from her body excited me.

                When she was all naked, the camera moved in for a closeup, focusing first on her big boobs with their erect pink nipples. Then it panned down lower. Although she was a platinum blonde, the hair of her muff was dark brown. I wondered how she felt standing bare-assed naked for all the world to see. The men were already undressed. The one who had been behind her had the biggest.dick I ever saw. He must have been the man in the picture outside with the huge black rectangle over him. The other guy was pretty ample too, but nothing like his pal. They were standing next to a bed. The one with the big dick lay down on his back on the bed. His hard-on stood straight up in the air like a flagpole. Without any ceremony, the girl got onto her knees, straddling him. The camera moved in for a close-up just in time to show him sliding slowly into her snatch. It seemed to go on forever. I just couldn’t imagine any woman taking so much meat.

                The other guy stood by the bed watching and stroking himself until he was rock hard. Then, as the girl moved rhythmically up and down on big-dick’s rod, he got into position behind her. This time, the camera focused on her backside, filling the screen with the cheeks of her ass pumping away. Spreading her buttocks with one hand, he guided his organ toward her little brown hole. I felt myself getting wet between the legs as I looked at two men’s dicks at the same time. When the second one began penetrating her ass, I thought I would go up in smoke. I wondered what it felt like to be that woman. For a moment, I forgot where I was and who I was with, but the sound of Dave’s heavy breathing brought me back.

                Tearing my eyes from the screen, I glanced at my husband. He appeared to be in a trance, his mouth slightly open, his eyes glazed. I looked at his crotch and saw that his pants were stretched tight over his straining erection. Almost involuntarily, I reached for it. When my fingers closed around the taut material, I heard him gasp. Without a second thought, I unzipped his fly. “Hey,” he exploded in a hoarse whisper. ”What the hell are you doing? Look where we are.”

                By now I had his hard-on out and was stroking it with my hand. “Shut up and enjoy it,” I murmured, turning back to watch the movie. I had never done anything like this before and I was loving it. Dave stopped protesting, his excitement overpowering his paranoia. I just kept rubbing him up and down while I watched the screen breathlessly. The woman was groaning at the double penetration, and I could almost feel it happening to me. Suddenly, I did something I never thought I would do in a million years. Rising out of my seat, I sat on my husband’s lap with my back against his chest so that we were both facing the screen. I arranged the skirt of my dress so that it covered us both, -and I moved my hips, trying to impale myself on his swollen erection. 1·was so wet with excitement that it slid right in.

                I felt Dave’s hands creeping into the armholes of my dress until he had both my breasts cupped in his palms. He twirled my hard nipples in his fingers and rocked his pelvis up against me to drive himself all the way in. I humped up and down on him, trying to match our movements to the threesome on the screen. I looked around the theater, unable to believe that I was actually doing a thing like this. I was so aroused that it gave me this weird courage. I didn’t even try to hold back my cries as . I felt an orgasm coming over me. It’s a good thing the three .. some in the movie were making enough noise to drown me out, because at that point I didn’t care who heard me.

                A second after I started to come, I felt Dave throbbing inside me. I could tell by the way he was squeezing my tits that he was coming with me. A few moments later, I was back in my own seat, primly smoothing my skirt over my knees. Dave doesn’t usually come that fast, and I never do. Most of the time, it takes me forever to have an orgasm. But that afternoon in the movie theater I got off within seconds. I guess it was a combination of things: the strange surroundings, the people sitting just a few rows away, the sex scene going on· before my eyes. Most of all, though, I think it was the fact that we did it without planning to. It was something that just happened, something totally unexpected. We never experienced anything like that before. I hope we will again sometime. But for now, Dave and I agree it was the best sex we ever had.

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                  MIXED DOUBLES

                  Thursday, April 5th, 2018

                  At thirty-six, Sid appears ten years younger. His small wiry body is agile and firm. His brown eyes are clear and sparkling. His hair is dark and expensively groomed. Sid, an investment broker, spends two or three days a week on the golf course, where he conducts a substantial portion of his business. His petite wife, Emily, thirty-four, is a licensed interior designer. Sid says that he and Emily had their best sex ever when they reunited with their old college flames.

                  Emily and I give a lot of parties. My business pretty much requires it. People let me invest millions of dollars for them. Let’s face it, nobody likes to trust a stranger with that kind of money. So I’ve always thought it a good practice to make my clients think of me not just as a broker but as a friend, too. When we bought our house, we looked for a place that would be right for entertaining. The dining room seats thirty or forty people comfortably, and in warm weather, our parties usually spill over onto the patio. We’re on top of a hill, with no neighbors in the immediate vicinity, so we never have to worry about noise and we can have live bands whenever we choose to. On this particular night, there were about twenty couples, all laughing and drinking and dancing and having a good time. Emily and I were taking turns answering the door to welcome latecomers. It was my tum when the Baxters arrived. There was another couple with them.

                  “I hope you don’t mind,” Jim Baxter said, shaking my hand and moving off to one side. ”Bruce and Lois dropped in on us as we were getting ready to leave for your party. When we told them where we were going, they insisted on coming along. Bruce says that you all knew each other back in college.” “That’s right,” I answered, shaking hands with Bruce and kissing Lois on the cheek. “We haven’t seen each other in years. Thanks for bringing them, Jim.” I really was glad to see them. Actually, we were more than old college buddies. Although Bruce had majored in psychology while I was working toward my MBA, we both belonged to the same fraternity and saw quite a bit of each other. But there was more to it than that.

                  Bruce and my wife, Emily, had dated for almost two years and were practically engaged at one point. Emily told me that the engagement was the reason their relationship ended. Dating had been fine, but when they got serious about marriage, she realized that Bruce was not the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Lois and I, on the other hand, had never gotten serious about anything, although we had lived together for about nine months. Neither of us had ever really expected our relationship to last. It was never more than one of those college things that seemed right at the time. That had been good enough for us. Lois and I had broken up on good terms. Soon afterward, she started going out with Bruce. After college we sort of drifted apart. Then, a year or so later, I heard that Bruce and Lois got married. I had first met Emily when she was engaged to Bruce, but we didn’t really get to know each other until about four years ago. It was quite a coincidence. I called an agency to have my apartment redecorated, and Emily was the decorator they sent. We recognized each other right away and started talking about all the people we used to know. Well, there just wasn’t time in the workday for all the catching up we had to do, so I asked her to have dinner with me. We hit it off immediately, and I guess you could say we’ve been having dinner together ever since. We were married just a few months later.

                  After greeting Bruce and Lois, I led them through the crowd in search of Emily. She was surprlsed and glad to see them. We were so busy with our other guests during the course of the evening, though, that neither of us had much time to spend with our old friends. Later, as the crowd began to thin, Emily suggested that Bruce and Lois stay after everyone else was gone so that we could all get reacquainted. We sat on the patio together, sharing several bottles of wine and bringing one another up to date. They were living on the East Coast and had come to town for Bruce to attend a conference. He was a psychologist with a successful practice and had written several pop-psych books that placed him somewhat in demand as a speaker. His age was showing a bit, but Lois looked young and ravishing. While her husband cured the neuroses of society, she spent her time tanning, swimming, and exercising her trim body.

                  As I looked at her, I found myself remembering the old days when we would lie in bed together making love for hours at a time. I guess I was undressing her in my. head as the four of us chatted and got tipsy. When Emily suggested that we all soak in the Jacuzzi, it sounded like a great idea to me. Lois asked if she could borrow a bathing suit. “What for?” I said. “We’re all grown-ups, and none of us will be seeing anything we haven’t seen before. So why bother with suits?”

                  I don’t know what would have happened if we hadn’t all consumed as much wine as we did, but as it was, everybody found my suggestion appealing. Within minutes, we were all nude and climbing into the bubbling spa. Bruce stared openly at my wife, appraising her naked body without pretense. “Emily,” he said, sitting on the concrete bench in the spa. “You look terrific. You really haven’t changed a bit.” Emily smiled and sort of pranced in the churning water. “Except,” he added thoughtfully, “I think your tits might be sagging a little.” Emily looked challenged. “What?” she sputtered. “My tits don’t sag at all. They’re just as firm as they ever were.” Stepping up in front of where Bruce was sitting, she pushed her shoulders back to thrust her breasts forward. “Here,” she said. “Feel for yourself.”

                  Before I had a chance to react, Bruce boldly cupped my wife’s breasts in his hands, squeezing gently as if to measure their heft. I could see her pink nipples hardening. Without letting go, he said, “No, you’re right. These tits are every bit as firm as the last time I held them.” I didn’t exactly know why, but I felt my cock stirring. Still holding Emily’s boobs, Bruce said, “Most psychologists believe that there is no jealousy in true love.” Turning . suddenly to me, he asked, “Well, Sid. ls your love for Emily true? Or is it making you jealous to see me fondling her tits?” A worried look passed across Emily’s face, but she just stood there allowing him to handle her. “Not at all,” I answered. “In fact, I’m finding it rather exciting.” I looked at Emily and saw her smile with relief. “But do you practice what you preach?” I asked. “What if I felt Lois’s ass? Would that bother you?”

                  As I spoke, I moved in front of where Lois was standing and looked her in. the eye. Her expression gave me permission. Reaching around her, I took her buttocks in my hands and stroked them gently. My cock became rock hard instantly as I caressed my former girlfriend while her husband and my wife looked on.

                  “It doesn’t bother me at all,” Bruce answered. I could see that he also had a hard-on. “After all, you probably screwed her a thousand times before she started going out with me. What difference would it make if you did it again now?” At his words, Lois reached down and grabbed my cock. “I’d love it,” she said. “I’d love to fuck you again. For old times’ sake. That is, if it would be all right with Emily.” I knew my wife well enough to recognize the look of desire passing across her face. It was obvious that she was enjoying the touch of Bruce’s fingers, which had now moved to her nipples where they were tracing little circles. It was also obvious that she was intrigued by the idea of watching me and Lois get it on.

                  I realized that if I did it with Lois, I would, in effect, be giving my wife permission to do it with Bruce. But I did not find the thought at all distasteful. What Bruce said made a lot of sense to me. They did plenty of fucking when they were engaged. I always knew that, of course, and it never was a problem for me. In fact, occasionally I used to imagine the two of them together, and the image always turned me on. I like to think of myself as open-minded where sex is concerned. I don’t have a problem with jealousy, and as far as I know, neither does Emily. What we know about each other’s past relationships never interferes with Emily’s feelings for me or with my feelings for her. Why should it matter if she and her former lover had sex again now? Actually, the thought of watching Emily with Bruce while I did it with Lois was very exciting.

                  It must have had the same effect on Emily. Her husky voice could barely be heard over the sound of the Jacuzzi as she said, “Yes. I love the idea. Let’s have an orgy.” The moment the words left Emily’s lips, Lois began stroking my erection up and down. Having received Emily’s consent, I abandoned myself to sex with Bruce’s wife. Clutching the cheeks of her ass, I pulled her a8ainst me until the tip of my dick was grazing the patch of curly hair around her pussy.

                  “Yes,” she whispered, placing her lips against my ear and running her tongue over it. She moved her hips from side to side, rubbing her pubis against my erect penis and pressing her breasts tightly against my chest. I could feel her hard nipples boring into me like diamond-tipped drills. My fingers began searching between the round cheeks of her ass for the tight little crevasse that I knew nestled in the valley. When I found it, I nudged lightly at it. Lois always was sensitive back there and I always knew that I could whip her up to feverish passion by caressing her between the cheeks.

                  She was groaning with complete lack of inhibition, her eyes shut tight and her mouth wide open. Allowing the heated water to buoy her up, she wrapped her legs around mine and thrust her pelvis toward me, all the while chewing and nibbling at my ear. “Yes,” she moaned. “Put your cock in me. Fuck me. Just like you used to.” Her words sent chills through my pulsating body, increasing my excitement. I humped forward, aiming my throbbing cock for her opening. When I felt it encounter the lips o( her pussy, I hesitated for a moment, savoring the pleasure of anticipation. “Put it in me,” she commanded, her voice becoming louder. “Put your big cock in me while Emily and Bruce watch. I want them to see it. I want them to see you fucking me.”

                  I had to tighten all the muscles in my groin to keep from coming instantly. For a few moments, I had been lost, so absorbed in the ecstasy of sexual contact with Lois that I forgot where we were and who we were with. Her words brought me back to a reality that carried my arousal to a peak. Looking over Lois’s shoulder, I saw my wife in the embrace of her former fiance. They were kissing, their tongues probing deep in each other’s mouths. One of Bruce’s arms was around Emily’s waist, pulling her against him, while his other hand played with her breasts, gently pinching and rolling the nipples. Emily’s hands were between their bodies. Although I couldn’t see them, it was clear that she was holding and rubbing his cock beneath the bubbly water. Emily’s eyes were open, staring at Lois and me. Without making a sound, she moved her lips, mouthing at me the words, “Fuck her.” I was so excited I thought I’d have a heart attack. My throbbing dick found its mark and was beginning to force its way between the resilient lips of Lois’s pussy. She groaned,· exaggerating a bit for dramatic effect, acutely aware of Emily’s staring eyes upon us. “Yes,” Lois hissed as my cock slowly entered her. “Yes, you’re in me. Oooh, you’re inside me. Oooh, Bruce, watch us. He’s fucking me. Sid is fucking me.” “I know,” Bruce answered, his breathing labored. “I’m watching you. I see everything. Oh, yes, Sid, do it. I’m going to do it to Emily now. May I, Emily?” “Yes,” Emily responded, almost singing the word. “Yes, Bruce, put it in me.”

                  I was all the way inside Lois now, our bodies grinding together in the swirling water of the bubbling spa. With her legs wrapped around mine, I turned so that we could watch our spouses as we plunged in intercourse. I saw Bruce drive his hips forward and heard Emily groan. I couldn’t see their genitals, but I was sure that he had penetrated my wife the way I was penetrating Lois. The air was filled with sex. It mingled with the steamy vapors rising from the churning whirlpool to create the erotic atmosphere of a sultry swamp. The music of our moans and sobs was a symphony of desire. It was like an orgy at a public bath in ancient Rome.

                  I felt the membranes of Lois’s pussy cling lovingly to my thrusting staff, but my pleasure far exceeded what resulted from the gentle friction. There was something so thrilling that I can’t even describe in the sensation of fucking another man’s wife while he and my wife watched. Seeing the two of them going at it at the same time is what really drove me to the top. I knew exactly how it felt to be inside Emily’s pussy and I could imagine what Bruce was experiencing. My wife’s facial expressions told me exactly what she was doing with the muscles of her pelvis. The fascination of watching her do it to another man brought me to a new high. Sex with Emily is totally different from sex with Lois. When I’m inside Emily, her vaginal tunnel caresses my cock continually, trailing long, soft waves of pleasure over its entire length without stopping. Lois’s pussy seemed to grab at me, squeezing my dick in spurts, With little rest periods in between, each constricting throb more powerful than the last. Fucking Lois and watching Emily with Bruce, I was able to experience both lovemaking styles simultaneously. To magnify the excitement, I realized that all of us were sharing these thoughts and sensations. Emily and Lois were probably comparing my cock to Bruce’s, just as Bruce and I were comparing their vulvas.

                  I watched Emily’s body undulate as she impaled herself rhythmically on Bruce’s erection. Her legs were wrapped around his hips. I could see the muscles of his upper thighs straining as he struggled to support her weight while thrusting in and out of her. Emily’s eyes were open, her gaze alternating between Bruce and us. When I saw them begin to glaze over, I knew that her orgasm was approaching. She seemed to retreat into a private world of erotic ecstasy. I realized that each drive of Bruce’s plunging hard-on brought her closer to sexual climax. For the first time I felt a pang of jealousy at the thought that any man besides me could bring her that much pleasure. Then she started making sounds that told me her orgasm was beginning, and somehow my jealousy drowned in the erotic flood.

                  The sights and sounds and sensations were all uniting to bring me to sexual completion. Lois was panting and sobbing in my ear, thoroughly aroused at witnessing the release of Emily’s passion. It had been so long since she and I had made love that I didn’t know· how to read her signs. Heroically, I struggled to hold back my onslaught, to be sure that Lois was satisfied before I let go. But the surge was much too strong to be controlled. I couldn’t wait any longer.

                  Like a rocket smashing the sound barrier, my orgasm burst forth through my feeble resistance. For a moment I lost all awareness, conscious only of the streams of fluid that I was pumping deep into Lois’s hungry loins. I returned to my surroundings in time to realize that all four of us were coming together. Lois’s cries blended symphonically with Emily’s; my gasping breaths harmonized with the grunting intonations of Bruce’s masculine voice. The heated water of the spa seemed to melt us all down into a single seething organism instead of four individual beings.

                  Once again, I lost consciousness of reality. I drifted off on a plane of erotic fulfillment until, without quite knowing how I got there, I found myself sitting in the bubbling water with my wife on my lap. Looking across the churning pool, I saw Lois resting in her husband’s arms. We were all back where we belonged. . Later that night when Emily and I were alone, we talked about the events of the evening. Emily found the whole episode very exciting, but admitted that she too experienced some jealousy at times. We agreed that although it might have been the best sex we ever had, it was the kind of thing you do maybe once in a lifetime.

                  Since then we’ve continued to have a great life together. Sex is always beautiful for us, and neither of us ever wants to make love with anybody else. But every now and then, especially when we’re having sex in the Jacuzzi, we talk about the night we got together with our old partners and had our little orgy.

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                    STRIPPING FOR ACTION

                    Friday, January 19th, 2018

                    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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