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THE SWEET TORMENT OF ANTICIPATION

Saturday, October 27th, 2018

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

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

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

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    STRIPPING FOR ACTION

    Monday, October 22nd, 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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      SEEING AND BEING SEEN

      Tuesday, October 16th, 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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        ANNIVERSARY

        Friday, October 12th, 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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          Interracial Taboo

          Tuesday, October 9th, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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            MORE THAN TWO

            Monday, October 8th, 2018

            Although very few have actually experienced it, many people are stimulated by the thought of group sex. Knowing this, authors of pornographic novels and producers of X-rated films routinely fill their work with scenes involving more than two people. Obviously, the idea is not new. Similar depictions appeared on Greek vases in the fifth century B.c. and on the walls of ancient Indian temples. Group sex generally comes in two varieties. In one form, two or more couples make love in the same room, each stimulated by the presence of the other. They may exchange mates, but each person has only one partner at a time. In the other form, one or more members of the group has several partners simultaneously.

            According to some sources, orgies and “swing parties” were commonplace during the 1970s in every suburban community in the United States. Psychologists and sociologists doubt that this was so. Whatever the actual frequency of group sex in our society, its popular presence in erotic art and entertainment proves that it is on· the minds of many people. In gathering material for Whispered Secrets,* our book about sexual fantasy, we found group-sex fantasies to be among the most common described by the people we interviewed. However, we also found that as a real-life practice, it is rather. unusual. While it may be pleasant to imagine the simultaneous touch of many hands or the taste of many bodies, group sex is not for everyone. Insecurity is often generated by the troubling question: “ls my partner enjoying that other person’s touch more than mine?” The jealousy that results from observing a lover in the arms of another can seriously jeopardize a relationship.

            The people whose stories are told in this blog claim that their experiments caused no damage and, in fact, led to the best sex they ever had. If this is so, they belong to a relatively small and rare breed of human. Even for them, however, these activities are what one described as “the kind of thing you do maybe once in a lifetime.”

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              CAMPING OUT

              Monday, October 1st, 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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                IMAGINARY ORGY

                Saturday, September 15th, 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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                  THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE

                  Monday, September 3rd, 2018

                  Sometimes the business of life can become humdrum. We tend to wake up at the same time every morning and go to bed at the same time every night. We build our lives around our sleep, our work, and our meals. If we ever stop to smell the proverbial roses, we are likely to do so only while waiting for the daily commuter train, or during some unexpected free moment in our scheduled routine. That is probably why almost everybody loves a surprise. Most of us have delightful memories of the special surprises we received as children on our birthdays or at Christmas. Even in our tender years, we appreciated anything sufficiently out of the ordinary to excite us with a break from routine. For many adults, sex becomes part of life’s routine. It is scheduled, like a meal, to follow the eleven o’clock news on Mondays and Saturdays, or to precede the kids’ return from a scout meeting on Wednesday evenings. As a result, it loses some of the sparkle that it had when it was a fresh, new experience.

                  Some couples have learned to recapture that sparkle by surprising each other with an occasional gift of sex. For the person who receives such a gift, a childlike feeling of excitement lights up the adult world. For the giver, there is the secret pleasure that comes from planning a surprise and looking forward to that special moment when the secret can be revealed and mutually enjoyed. The element of surprise made a real difference in the lives of both couples described in this blog. They discovered that having sex at unexpected times and in unusual settings put a new vitality in their relationships. The excitement that they felt when surprising or being surprised by a partner carried over to spice up even their routine sexual moments.

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                    EXHIBITIONISTS

                    Thursday, August 23rd, 2018

                    Marla is five feet four inches call with long, thick red hair. The freckles covering her face and throat make her look younger than her twenty-six years. Marla teaches yoga at a community college. Her passion for yoga has made her body lithe and supple with a narrow waist that fl.ares out to wide, sensuous hips. She has been living with her boyfriend, Dan, a computer systems analyst, for the past eight months. Marla says her most erotic experience occurred one night when she and Dan were visiting friends. Her saucershaped brown eyes flash with suppressed merriment as she describes it to us.

                    Dan and Tony have been friends for years. Ever since Dan and I started dating, we’ve spent lots of time with Tony and his girlfriend, Celeste. They’re fun people, and we always laugh a lot when we’re together. Tony’s an accountant, and I guess I always expected accountants to be dull. But Tony isn’t. Of course, he’s not just an ordinary accountant. He works for a movie company, and maybe that makes his job kind of glamorous. He usually has all the inside gossip about what’s going on in Hollywood. You know, who’s sleeping with who, that sort of thing. Celeste is terrific, too. Spontaneous and impulsive. Anything to have a good time. She’s never afraid of trying something new. She works as a legal secretary for a big downtown law firm. The two of us hit it off right from the beginning. Anyway, one evening a few months ago, Tony called to invite us over for drinks. We really felt like staying home. Actually, we were planning to go to bed early for some hot sex. Dan didn’t say that to Tony, of course. He just said we were kind of tired.

                    But Tony insisted. He said that he had something for us to see, and it had to be that night. He absolutely wouldn’t take no for an answer. He said he was already popping the cork out of the wine bottle and would be expecting us within a half hour. Before Dan could make any more excuses, Tony just hung up. We always dress casual when we go to Tony and Celeste’s, so we just combed our hair and went as we were. Dan was wearing sweats-a kind of jogging suit, really. I had on jeans and a Western-style shirt with snaps down the front. When we got to Tony’s apartment, Celeste greeted us with hugs. “Come on in,” she invited. “The wine is waiting.” The four of us sat on the sectional sofa around the cocktail table in the living room, chatting and sipping red wine. After a while, Dan said, “So what’s the big surprise? And why did it have to be tonight?”

                    A mischievous smile played over Tony’s face. “Wait till you see what I’ve got,” he said. “You won’t be sorry you came. You think you were fooling me with that bullshit about going to bed early because you were tired? You were going to bed early, all right, but not because you were tired. Screwing! That’s what you had in mind. Don’t try to kid me. But, believe me, you’re going to be glad you stayed up for this.”

                    I was dying of curiosity. “What is it?” I asked eagerly. “What is this all about?” Tony went into the bedroom for a moment and returned with a videotape in his hand. “I’ve got a piece of film here with two of America’s biggest movie stars in some of the hottest sex scenes ever recorded. Some of these scenes were so explicit that they had to be taken out of the film to keep it from getting an X rating. Others are just plain bloopers. It’s a shame, but after tomorrow nobody’s ever going to get to see them. All copies are to be destroyed at nine A.M. in the editing room. I’ve got a friend who smuggled this one out for me, but he made me promise that I wouldn’t make copies and that I’d never tell anyone I’d seen it. I’ve got to return it to him first thing in the morning.”

                    I was intrigued. When Tony dimmed the lights and popped this video on his phone, I stared at the screen. Some numbers flashed across the screen to identify the scene and take. And then it began. I wish I could tell you who the two movie stars were, but Tony made us promise that we never would. He said that if anyone found out he had shown us this film, he and his friend would both lose their jobs and would probably never work in the industry again. I can say this, though. The male star is someone that you’ve probably seen in at least ten movies. And if you haven’t fantasized about being kissed by him, you’re just not a normal red .. blooded woman. The female hasn’t been around quite as long, but you’d recognize her name if you heard it. She’s one of the up and-coming young starlets, and everyone is predicting that she’ll be the sex goddess of the nineties. Some say she’s the new Marilyn Monroe.

                    When the scene opened, the two stars were in bed embracing. Although they were naked, all you could really see was their bare asses. I wondered why this scene had to be removed. I had seen plenty of movies that showed more than that. Then they broke the embrace, and I understood. When he rolled over, his mammoth erection was standing straight up in the air.

                    A voice in the background shouted, “Cut!” but the action continued. This particular actor is known as a macho man, and he sure had the dick to prove it. It was thick and long and looked as hard as a tree trunk. I couldn’t help staring at it. I mean, I’ve probably imagined that thing every time I’ve seen him on the screen. He’s so sexy you can’t help it. And here he was lying back and showing it to the world. I felt myself becoming excited immediately. The actress didn’t react that way, though. She started to laugh explosively, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. You could tell she had totally lost it. She kept laughing, her body flopping hopelessly about on the bed. She was laughing so convulsively that at one point she threw her legs out in both directions, totally exposing her pussy. I could see Dan’s attention focusing on the screen. I couldn’t blame him, of course. It was so exciting to see those movie stars all naked that way.

                    “You can’t show a stiff dick in the movies,” the starlet sputtered between choking laughs. The male star was laughing too, but that didn’t do anything to reduce the size of his hard-on. “You’ll get the whole production company arrested,” she said. “What the hell am I supposed to do about it,” he said, roaring with uninhibited laughter. “I’m in bed with the sexiest woman in Hollywood. Don’t blame me, blame him.” He pointed dramatically at his penis, absolving himself of all responsibility. “Well, we’ll have to do something,” she said, her body shaking with amusement. “Here, I’ll take care of it. Then we can get on with making this film.” With that, she grabbed his penis in her hand and began jerking it vigorously up and down, still laughing. Her actions were making his laughter subside until it became more like a moan. A voice kept shouting ”Cut! Cut!” But no one was cutting anything.

                    The actress continued rubbing his dick, her movements no longer quite as rough. Her rhythm was slower and more in tune to the involuntary gyrations of his hips. He wasn’t laughing at all now. His eyes were closed and his body was rocking. The sight of my film idol getting a handjob was really affecting me. I could feel myself becoming wet in the pants. It must have been arousing Dan too, because he moved over closer to me and put his arm around my shoulders. The big cock on the screen seemed to be growing even bigger, swelling and turning beet red as the stroking became more loving than playful. I was sure that the screen would go black at any minute, but it didn’t. I was glad. I wanted to see more. There’s something exciting about seeing other people make love. And when they’re movie stars, it’s major erotic.

                    I tried to imagine what it was like for the actress to be jerking off that gorgeous hunk. Judging from the expression on her face, she was enjoying it. She was obviously the kind of woman who really got into sex. She was staring at the throbbing erection with the same fascination that I was. As we both watched it, it seemed to rear back, getting ready to buck. The camera zoomed in on the bulbous head just as the first whirling white drop of semen shot out of it. The thick liquid flew from the tip of that movie star’s dick with the power of a shot fired from a cannon. Then it was followed by another. And another. I think that watching a man come is about the most intimate thing you can do. But watching this particular man come was almost too exciting for me to bear.

                    I heard the sound of heavy breathing and realized it was my own. Dan must have heard it too, because he pulled me toward him and patted my breast with his hand, whispering seductively, “Pretty hot, isn’t it?” I felt my nipples growing rock hard against the inside of my bra. To my disappointment, the screen faded to black. Almost immediately, numbers flashed again. “This is the next take of that same scene,” Tony said. “That handjob cost the studio a few thousand bucks. They had to wait an hour before the star was ready to work again, while everybody on the set continued to get paid.”

                    “How many people were on the set?” my curiosity prompted me to ask. The idea intrigued me… Tony, with his accountant’s brain, knew exactly. “With the cameramen, the production staff, and the gofers,” he said, “there were seventeen. Not counting the actors.” “Seventeen,” I echoed. “God, it must have been exciting for the actors to be doing that in front of seventeen people. I can just imagine.” “Exciting?” Celeste said. “I would be too embarrassed to get excited. But I’ll bet it was thrilling to be one of the people watching. Now that’s something I could really get excited about.”

                    On the screen, the second take of the scene began the way it had the first time, with the actor and actress on the bed tightly embracing in the nude. They kissed for a while, and then he slipped his hand between their bodies to fondle one of her breasts. She moved back slightly so that we could see the rounded fullness of her. Her nipple was cherry red and hard. This may have been only a scene in a movie, but that nipple erection was no act. His head dipped to stroke her breasts with his cheek before he took the erect nipple in his mouth. I felt Dan’s thigh pressing mine as he pulled me tight against him. He began stroking my breasts through my shirt with both his hands. I watched the lovers on the screen while I let Dan feel me up. It was so exciting. When I felt the top two snaps of my shirt pop open, I purred. As Dan slipped a hand inside, I felt another snap open. Grabbing the front of my shirt, I pulled sharply, opening the rest of the snaps in a single stroke.

                    The movie star’s mouth was moving from one erect nipple to the other as Dan stroked me through the satin fabric of my bra. I ached for my breasts to be free. I wanted to feel his breath on them. I wanted his tongue to touch and tease them. I wanted to feel what the actress was feeling. With swift fingers, I undid the fastener at the front of my bra and shrugged it open. Dan cupped my breasts in his hands and squeezed them softly. For the moment, we had both forgotten that we were not alone. “Oh, Dan,” I moaned as his :fingers played with my exposed breasts. “Oh, yes. That feels so good.” Tony’s voice brought me back. “Hey, you guys,” he said. “What are you going to do, fuck right here?” I felt a tingling in my pussy. Tony might have been kidding, but his suggestion excited me. Dan started to pull away from my tits, but I covered his hands with mine and held them in place. “That’s a hot idea,” I said softly, looking to Tony and Celeste for a response.

                    Celeste’s breathing was deep and labored, her bosom rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. “I think it’s a hot idea, too,” she said in a voice that trembled with excitement. “Why don’t you go for it, Marla?” “Well, I certainly have no objection,” Tony added, his voice sounding nervously eager. “Now it’s up to Dan,” I said, freeing his hands and leaning back to give him full access to my breasts. My boyfriend hesitated for a split second and then, without a word, fell . forward, taking one of my nipples in his mouth and sucking gently on it.

                    The couple on the screen were fucking now, but we were too involved in our own activity to give them any more attention. As Dan licked my breasts, his hands worked my shirt and bra off over my shoulders and arms. It was exciting to be exposed in front of our friends’ watching eyes. Dan cupped my breasts with his hands as I helped him out of his jogging suit. When he was naked, he stood up, his hard cock pointing straight out in front of him. Then he drew me to my feet and started unbuttoning my jeans. I had a sense of unreality. I couldn’t believe it was happening. He slid the jeans down to where I could step out of them, leaving me clad only in my white cotton panties.

                    Taking my hand, Dan turned me in a complete circle, so that .Tony and Celeste could see every part of me. I could feel their eyes burning my skin, arousing me more than I had ever been aroused before. I was acutely conscious of the triangle of red hair that almost showed through the thin fabric of my panties. I wanted to be completely naked. I wanted nothing hidden. Without waiting for Dan’s next move, I stripped the panties off and tossed them out of the way. I stroked my curling bush and pressed the palm of one hand against my moist slit. “Come on, Dan,” I whispered hoarsely. “I want you to do me while Tony and Celeste watch.” I moved to the couch and lay back on it, slowly parting my legs so that they could look between them. The idea of being on display for the hungry, lustful gaze of our best friends had my juices flowing incredibly.

                    Dan moved slowly toward me, his erection bobbing up and down with each step. His cock was beautiful, but all the eyes in the room, even Celeste’s, were on me. Dan sat on the couch beside me and stared into my slit. Softly, he touched its lips with the fingers of both hands, spreading them to tum my pussy into a blossoming flower. I could feel the stares as his fingertips stroked and petted the moist folds of flesh. I closed my eyes in pleasure and then forced them open again so that I could see the people who were watching me. Celeste had the glazed look of someone in a hypnotic trance. Tony was leaning forward in his seat so that he wouldn’t miss a thing. When Dan slipped one thick finger inside my pussy, I heard Celeste sigh quietly. A moment later, she was sitting on Tony’s lap and kissing him, while her eyes remained open and fastened on me.

                    Dan stroked his finger in and out of me until it was gleaming with the wetness of my sex. My hips moved rhythmically up and down, matching the tempo of his movement. I could hear the slurping noises made by my juices as his finger whipped them to a froth. When I remembered that our friends could hear the same sounds, I got even wetter. Dan slipped a second finger in now, stretching me open wider as if to prepare me for the onslaught of his cock.

                    I kissed Dan’s ear, bathing it with the tip of my tongue, and whispered in a voice loud enough for Celeste and Tony to hear, “I think they like it. Why don’t you fuck me now and really give them something to look at.” With his hands, Dan guided me from the couch to the floor. He stood over me, his feet apart and his back to the watchful couple on the couch. Gracefully, he lowered himself to his knees, shuffling forward an inch at a time until I could feel the heat of his body radiating against my skin. I placed the backs of my ankles on his shoulders as he hunched forward. The tip of his swollen penis was nudging at me now. I wanted to throw myself upward to swallow it in a single thrust, but I knew it would be best if I left everything to Dan’s superb sense of timing. He can stretch out the actual penetration so long that it seems to go on forever.

                    I wanted to scream with hungry desperation. Then I felt the head of his penis spreading my labia as he buried his massive hard-on inside me by slow and steady degrees. I groaned, conscious somewhere in the bottom of my being that our audience was waiting, breathless, for him to drive it into me to the hilt. I always . liked fucking in this position because it made possible the deepest kind of penetration. I groaned again as I felt the mass of him strike against my cervix. Arching my back, I lifted my sex up .to him, silently begging for the last inch of his cock. With a bestial grunt, he rammed forward, giving me his all.

                    I sobbed with emotion as he began fucking in and out of me. as hard as he could with long driving strokes. His forward thrust dragged a groan from my throat, followed an instant later by the groans of Celeste and Tony. Knowing that they were watching us have sex on their living room floor increased my excitement. I never realized before what an exhibitionist I was, or how thrilling it could be to be the center of everyone’s erotic attention. My entire body was bathed in sweat.

                    I groaned. I sighed. I moaned. I went wild. I was like a wild animal, humping vigorously to match the violence of his thrusts. Our excitement was so intense that I knew neither of us would be able to keep this up for very long. Never before had I experienced a passion of such power. I could feel my climax building. I knew Dan well enough to know that his, too, was just an instant away. uoh, Dan,” I wailed. “I’m going to come. Oh, Tony. Oh, Celeste. Watch me. Watch me. Watch me.” That was it; the waiting time was over. Like a dam bursting, my climax over .. took me, drowning all thought, flushing away all contact with reality. For a few moments, I was lost.

                    Dan’s voice brought me back. “I’m coming, too,” he groaned. His ass bucked ferociously as he pumped his semen deep into my tunnel. I felt his hard-on throbbing inside me and I was suddenly aware again of our audience. I moaned for them as much as for myself. Dan and I kept rolling together until our energy ran out. I lowered my legs. With a sigh, Dan slumped forward to come to rest on top of me. We lay that way for a while, Dan with his eyes closed while I watched Tony and Celeste kissing deeply. The TV screen had gone dark. Tony broke the kiss and glanced at us, as if to assure himself that our performance had really ended. He rose to his feet, lifting Celeste into his arms, and said, “We’re going to the privacy of our own bedroom now. But when we close our eyes, you can be sure we’ll be seeing you.” Carrying his girlfriend out of the room, he was gone.

                    Dan and I dressed hurriedly, eager to rush home to make love again. Which we did. Putting on that erotic performance for Tony and Celeste had whipped us up to a pitch of excitement that didn’t subside for weeks. In a way, it never sub.. sided. Dan and I have fantastic sex almost every night. But without a doubt, the best sex we ever had was the night we did it for an audience.

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