Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category


Friday, January 19th, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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    Sunday, December 24th, 2017

    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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      Monday, September 25th, 2017

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

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

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


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        Tempting Fate

        Wednesday, September 13th, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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          Interracial Taboo

          Saturday, August 26th, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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            Wednesday, July 12th, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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              Thursday, December 3rd, 2015

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              Ellen is five-foot-eight and quite thin. Her light brown hair is medium length and simply styled. At twenty-four, Ellen is the mother of two baby girls, ages one and two. In addition, she works part-time as a legal secretary. The combination probably accounts for the lines around her blue eyes and the tired expression that she usually wears. Her husband, Chuck, makes deliveries for an over night courier service and attends classes in the evenings in hopes of earning a bachelor’s degree. Ellen says that she and Chuck have their best sex every few months, when they treat themselves to an erotic weekend.

              It isn’t easy having two babies so very close in age. Being a working mother makes it even harder. But these days, it’s impossible for a family to live on just one in.come, so I really have no choice. Chuck helps out as much as he can, but between work and school he’s hardly ever home. When he is, he has to study. I’m sure things will get better when he finishes school. Until then, this schedule is hell on our sex life. Chuck and I started going out together when we were in high school. Everybody thought we made a perfect couple and assumed that we would get married after graduation. I guess I assumed it, too. That’s why I didn’t feel any guilt when we started having sex in our senior year. The first time we did it was on the couch at Chuck’s house. We were studying together when his parents said that they were going out for the evening. As soon as they left, we started hugging and kissing. As usual, I let Chuck open my blouse and bra so that he could play with my breasts. Before long, I was completely undressed and Chuck’s hands were all over my naked body. It felt so good that I wanted to touch him the same way.

              With frantic fingers, I plucked at the front of his pants in an effort to get them open. Ch:uck was surprised, because although he had frequently undressed me, his clothes always stayed on. This time it was dllferent. I got his dick out and began stroking it exuberantly. Within minutes, he too was naked. We grabbed at each other roughly, excited to be going so far at last. Artlessly, we rolled around until he was on top of me, his erect cock poised at the opening of my pussy. Hesitating for the briefest possible instant, we simultaneously lunged toward each other. I felt his erection tear into me, filling my loins with pain. I started to scream, but his mouth was pressed so tightly to mine that nothing came out but a muffed cry.

              Chuck, oblivious to my suffering, humped away until he was buried to the hilt inside me. Just as the pain of his entry was beginning to subside, he moaned and started his climax. Seconds later, he was lying by my side panting in an effort to catch his breath. When I saw streaks of bloody semen on my legs, I cried. My virginity was a thing of the past. We agreed that it had been a mistake that we wouldn’t repeat until we were older and more settled. But two hours later, we did it again. This time it didn’t hurt, and the fuck lasted a lot longer, although I didn’t have an orgasm. Since I didn’t know what to expect anyway, I wasn’t disappointed, and it did feel good. After that we did it every chance we got, learning more about each other’s desires and needs as we went along. We got better and better at it, and it felt more and more wonderful. By the seventh or eighth time, I was getting close enough to orgasm to realize that it was supposed to happen. A week or so after that, I climaxed with him. I couldn’t wait for graduation so that we could be married.

              When school ended, Chuck started acting strange. I realize now that he wasn’t ready for marriage. The prospect frightened him. Every time I brought it up, our discussion would end in an argument. After a while, he seemed to be looking for excuses not to see me. A few months after we graduated, Chuck said that he needed a break from our relationship. He said he thought it would be best if we tried dating other people. My mother always told me that a girl shouldn’t have sex until marriage because if she did the guy would have no reason to marry her. “Why should he buy the cow,” she had said, “if he can get the milk for free?” It was beginning to look like she was right. Chuck and I stopped seeing each other.

              It wasn’t until a year and a half later at a. party that we ran into each other. In the meantime, I had dated a few other guys, but never even came close to having sex with them. When I saw Chuck at the party, my heart started to flutter. I stayed as far away from him as I could because I was sure he no longer had any interest in me. He came over to where I was standing, though, and asked me to dance. While we were dancing, he said that he had been missing me a lot and wanted to call me but just didn’t know what to say. We danced every dance. After the party, we went out for a soda. We started dating again, and within six months, we were married.

              At first our life together was like a vacation. Chuck drove the delivery truck and I worked as a secretary. At the end of each workday, we rushed home to our tiny apartment to have sex; and then to have dinner, and then to have sex again. We didn’t have much money, but that didn’t matter. We _made beautiful love, and that was enough for us. Most of our friends were still single and lived with their parents. As a result, they had money to spend on shows and ·entertainments. We didn’t need that, because Chuck and I made our own entertainment. Sex was our pastime. We elevated it to a high art by making up games that indulged our fantasies.

              One night, for example, I came home from work to find the apartment dark and unusually quiet. When I turned on the light, I was startled to see Chuck with a toy pistol in his hand; his face completely hidden by a ski mask. Before I had a chance to say anything, he leaped behind me and put his hand over my mouth. Holding the toy pistol to my head, he said, “Behave yourself or I’ll kill you.” Falling right into it, I acted scared. “Please don’t hurt me,” I begged. “I’ll do anything you say.” At gun point, he ordered me to lift my skirt. and pull the crotch of my panties to one side. Then, forcing me to lie on the kitchen table, he opened his pants and stuck his cock into me. He fucked me without removing a single article of clothing from either of us, keeping the pistol pointed at my head the entire time. After he came, he pulled out of me, zipped his fly, and left the apartment. When he returned half an hour later, he acted as if nothing had happened.

              Another time, I borrowed some clothes from a girlfriend who was smaller than I was. I changed into them before leaving work. When I arrived at our apartment, I was wearing black fish-net stockings and a short black leather skirt that was so tight I could barely walk. I had removed my bra and wore a tight, low-cut red sweater, which showed my tits practically down to the nipples.

              Instead of letting myself in with a key, I knocked. I heard Chuck call, “Who’s there?” I answered, “Escort service.” When Chuck opened the door, the puzzled look on his face changed slowly into a grin of understanding. “You called Ellen’s Escorts?” I asked, wriggling my shoulders to move my breasts from side to side. “I’m here to serve you. Pay in advance, please.” I took the ten-dollar bill that Chuck extracted from his pocket, slipping it into my cleavage. Then, stepping inside, I said, “Drop your pants, please. I don’t have much time.” Obediently, Chuck undid his belt and let his pants slip down to his ankles. His cock was already erect and straining at the taut fabric of his white briefs. Abruptly, I pulled down his underwear to free it. Without another word, I dropped to my knees and took his prick in my hand.

              I rubbed it up and down roughly, trying to simulate the callous movements of a paid hooker. When I felt it bulge with excitement, I gently licked its head with the tip of my tongue. I nibbled up and down the shaft until Chuck’s breath was coming in labored pants. Then, without any further ceremony, I took the length of it into my mouth and started sucking voraciously. I bobbed my head back_ and forth in a fucking motion, trying to brlng him off as quickly as possible. When I felt him swelling in preparation for ejaculation, I pulled my mouth away and finished him by stroking him to climax. Before his cock was completely soft, I stood up and said, “Thank you. Call again.”

              As the apartment door closed behind me, I could hear him saying, “Hey, where are you going?” I returned about twenty minutes later carrying a pizza. I bought it with the ten dollars that he paid me for the blowjob. Just when I was beginning to think that we would share these moments of erotic bliss forever, I discovered I was pregnant. We were both thrilled, of course. But I don’t think either of us realized the change that a baby would bring to our lives.

              For the first few months of the pregnancy, we were more active sexually than ever. Chuck said that my rounded belly and enlarged breasts turned him on. That turned me on. Chuck bought a plastic vibrator, which brought us many pleasures. We spent hours playing with it and fucking almost every night. We invented new sex games, tailoring them to fit my blossoming condition. As the time for my delivery came closer, I found myself feeling clumsy and ungainly. After I stopped. working, our sexual activity decreased drastically. Then Helen was born, and sex went out the window. At first, it was because I lost interest. But even when I started wanting it again, we just didn’t have time.

              The baby seemed to require all my energy and attention. She never slept and was always demanding to be fed, held, or changed. It was all we could do to steal a quick fuck before going to sleep at night. Neither of us ever really felt satisfied. All too soon, I became pregnant again. Shortly after Charlene was born, we realized that we wouldn’t be able to survive financially unless I ·returned to work. When I went back to my old job on a part-time basis, it began to look like we would have to give up sex completely. The girls were so close in age, and little babies are so needful, that it was all I could do to keep up with them.

              Chuck started going to school at night. With school, our jobs, delivering the babies to and from day care, and taking care of them when we were home, neither of us had the strength or the time for sex. Not that we stopped wanting it. Not by a long shot. I remember sitting at my typewriter at work staring into space and thinking about the days when Chuck and I used to make love all weekend long. I imagined complex erotic scenarios, remembering games we had played and inventing new ones in my head. One evening, when he had a break between classes, Chuck called me to see how the kids were. I had been having a sex fantasy. It involved handcuffs. I was so horny that I asked Chuck to cut school and come home to fuck me. “Sorry, love,” he said. “You know I can’t do that. I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for class.”

              “Wait,” I implored. “I’ve got a real hot idea.” I tried to tell him about my fantasy, but he cut me off. “No time now,” he said. “Write it down or something. I’ll read it when I get home.” I was frustrated, but I couldn’t blame him. Life was just as hard for Chuck as it was for me. Remembering his suggestion, I got a sheet of paper and began describing a bondage fantasy, complete with manacles, shackles, whips, and chains. Later, when Chuck got home, he was too tired to read it. “Drop it in there,” he said, gesturing to a glass vase on the nightstand. “I’ll read it in the morning.” By then I was so tired that it didn’t make any difference anyway.

              The next morning when Chuck did get around to reading it, his face took on a wistful look of excitement. “This is great stuff,” he said. “Too bad there’s never time anymore. But let’s save the idea.” Suddenly his face lit up. “Why don’t we store our fantasies in this little vase? That way we’ll be ready whenever opportunity knocks.” That was the beginning of our new sex game. I wrote my desires down on slips of pink paper and Chuck wrote his on blue. Most of the time, we put them directly into the vase without showing them to each other. After a few months, the vase was filled to the brim. Sometimes we speculated about whether there were more pink slips or blue ones.

              One night, Chuck tapped the vase and said, “I think it’s time we did something about this collection.” “I think so, too,” I said. “But what?” He told me that he had arranged for his mother to take the girls the following weekend. “We’ll take turns drawing slips of paper out of the vase,” he said. “I’ll pick the pink ones and you’ll pick the blue. We’ll have to do whatever the fantasy requires.” It seemed like the weekend would never arrive. When it finally did, I was all worked up. I waved as Chuck’s mother drove off with our children in her car. As soon as she was out of sight, I turned to look at Chuck. He was grinning lewdly, the glass vase in his hand.

              “Let’s go into the bedroom,” he suggested in a whisper. “I’ll do one of yours.” He shook the vase and reached in to draw out a folded slip of pink paper. As he read it, a slow smile spread over his face. Passing it to me, he went to the closet. I glanced at the words I had written, probably six weeks before. “Tie me to the bed and don’t untie me until I’ve had three orgasms.” When I looked up, Chuck was standing in front of me with four neckties in his hand. I quickly undressed and lay back on the bed, spreading my arms and legs so that he could bind my wrists and ankles to the four comers of the bed frame. When he was done, I pulled at the ties to see whether they would really restrain me. I was truly a prisoner in my own bed.

              Lying naked and helplessly pinioned, I felt totally vulnerable. Chuck could do anything he wanted to make me come. There was nothing for me to do but lie there and take it. I tingled all over with excitement. Wide-eyed, I watched him remove his clothes to stand by the side of the bed looking down at me. His cock was stiff and swollen, sticking straight out in front of him. I could see a vein in its shank throbbing rhythmically. Slowly, he stroked its length as his eyes roamed over my bound body. I could tell that he was considering all the things he would do to me. Sitting beside me on the mattress, he placed his hands gently on my shoulders. He cupped them before trailing his fingers softly over my arms all the way to my wrists. The lightness of his touch was tantalizing. I could feel my nipples stirring, the dark disks that surround them crinkling with excitement.

              He leaned over and, without touching them, breathed warmly on my erect pink buds. At the same time, his fingers explored my armpits and strayed down my sides, caressing the ridges of my ribs and meandering over the prominences of my hips. His hands traveled over my nude body in a random pattern, one tickling the crease under my breast while the other traced the contours of my calf or thigh. I felt my pussy becoming damp as his strokes aroused my desire. His hands mounted my breasts and circled closer to my nipples. I wanted him to grasp and squeeze them, to twist and rub them, but he continued to tease me. I heard myself sigh . as he cupped one breast. I moaned as his hand traveled on. His fingers were tracing figure-eights across the plane of my belly, making little designs around my sensitive navel and dipping to a point just above the line of my pubic mound. He began moving the fingers of one hand in spirals aroud my pussy, driving me. frantic with longing. Arching my back, I tried to press myself upward against his tormenting hand. I wanted to feel his ·fingers inside of me. I wanted it desperately. He was teasing me with both hands now. One was toying gently with the curls of my pubic hair, venturing to twirl a few strands around his fingers before retreating to the softness of my abdomen. The other hand was stroking the insides of my thighs, reaching under me to swab a probing fingertip against my puckered anus.

              His touch came closer all the time to my heated center of desire, but still he held back. If I hadn,t been tied down, I would have thrown myself at him, wrapping my arms and legs tightly around him, forcing him to satisfy my needs. But I was helpless. My pussy dripped moisture, the fluids of my excitement dampening the pink folds of flesh that guarded my opening. I was possessed by an insatiable need for fulfillment. My clit was swollen and erect, hard as a ruby and begging for attention. I knew instinctively that it was peeking out from under its protective hood, all red and glistening.

              His fingers passed lightly over the lips of my pussy, bringing their heat to the nerve endings of my pleasure center. His fingers came closer. Closer. Maybe he was making contact. Maybe he was touching me; I wasn’t sure. Yes. His fingers were sliding alongside my clit, pressing my own flesh against it. I felt the erect little nubbin grow thicker, harder. Then the tip of his finger grazed its head and I felt myself explode. I wailed as my body gained release from the sexual tension that had been building for so long. Was it minutes? Or was it months? My eyes closed tightly. I rolled my head from side to side, rocking under the flashes of heated exhilaration that ran through my body. I gasped for breath, sobbing and whining with pleasure. As my climax reached its zenith, I slipped over the edge, drifting back to earth as though suspended from a huge satin parachute.

              A long time later, I opened my eyes to Chuck’s smile of satisfaction. ”That’s one,” he said. ”You still have two to go. This time, I’ll get right to the point.” Reaching into the night table drawer, he brought out the white plastic vibrator, which we had almost forgotten. He held it in front of my face for a moment to. give me a preview of my next pleasure. Then he flipped the switch to start it humming. In contrast to the teasing slowness with which he first aroused me, he placed the vibrator’s tip against my clit immediately. Although it had been at rest, the little organ sprang to life at once, reaching instant erection. Chuck held the vibrator directly on it, moving the device in small circles, keeping it always in contact With my pulsating button.

              I didn’t believe it could happen so fast the second time, but it did. Clouds of orgasm started forming within moments. Once they broke, there was no stopping the torrent. I seemed to be coming forever, my consciousness buffeted by the storm of erotic ecstasy. When it was over, I issued a satisfied sigh. Chuck turned the vibrator off and began stroking the outer lips of my pussy with its silent tip. “No, Chuck,” I begged. “Not yet. It’s too soon.” I wanted to snap my legs together to gain a moment’s rest before he started on me again. But the ties that bound me to the four comers of the bed made it impossible. There was nothing for me to do but take all the stimulation he offered.

              I felt him slip the plastic cylinder between the lips of my pussy, fucking me slowly with it. Involuntarily, I rocked my pelvis up to open myself for it. Incredibly, I wanted more. I wanted to feel it all the way in me. Sensing my need, Chuck moved it steadily deeper, filling me with the thickness of the sex toy. When it was buried as far as it would go, he stroked it in and out as if it were his cock. I clenched the muscles of my groin, tightening the walls of my pussy around it, increasing . the friction. I watched as he bent lower until, at last, his lips were pressed to my clitoris, already erect again. Just as he sucked the throbbing button into his mouth, he turned on the vibrator.

              I was overwhelmed by the flood of sensations that filled my rocking pelvis. I felt myself being fucked and licked at the same time, every nerve of my sex tingling with stimulation. Loudly, I filled the air with my passionate cries. Another orgasm was building in my humping loins. The flowing juices of my arousal bathed my clit as Chuck ran his tongue tip over its head again and again. The combination of his licking and the persistent vibrations inside my womb brought my climax rupturing forth. Tearing through the wall of resistance, it filled my body with shuddering spasms of sexual fulfillment. When my third orgasm ended, I fell back against the pillows and breathed deeply. I was completely satisfied, and yet I felt ready for more sex. Now I wanted to please Chuck the way he had pleased me. I wanted to bring him to the urgency of explosion by fulfilling one of his dearest fantasies.

              After a short rest, my husband untied me, and I reached into the vase for one of his blue papers. Following its instructions, I smacked his ass repeatedly until it glowed bright red and then sucked him until he soared. After that, he drew another pink paper. And after that I drew another blue. When the weekend was over, the vase was half empty. Waiting for Chuck’s mother to arrive with the babies, we agreed to have another erotic fantasy weekend as soon as possible. Since then, we’ve managed to spice up our life by devoting every seventh or eighth weekend to sex games. For us, these erotic holidays lead to the best sex ever. They give us something to look forward to as we write our fantasies down on slips of paper and refill the vase with them.

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                WEEKEND SLAVE

                Thursday, December 3rd, 2015

                Standing five and a half feet tall, with a trim and shapely body, Gina makes a striking appearance. Her long hair is straight and brown. Her green eyes are shaped like a cat’s. Gina is an assistant editor for a young women’s fashion magazine. She was divorced a little more than a year ago at the age of thirty-two. For the past several months, she has been seeing Frank, a radio disk jockey, on a steady basis.

                My ex … husband and I were married when we were in our early twenties and hung together for almost ten years. It was awful. Thank God we didn’t have any children; that would have made the divorce even messier than it was. There were lots of problems in our marriage, but sex was probably the worst of them. Lovemaking was never high on my ex’ s list of priorities. If I learned anything from my marriage, it was that life held no hope for sexual fulfillment. The closest I ever came to satisfaction was when I masturbated, which I did occasionally, but always with a great sense of shame and guilt. Actually, until I met Frank, I didn’t discover that my sexual appetites could be nourished. Frank is four years older than I am and went through a divorce just about the same time I did. When we met, I guess we were both hungry for companionship. Frank was mentioned in a story I was editing about radio personalities. When I called him to verify some facts, he invited me to lunch. I was sexually attracted to him as soon as he sat down across the table from me. He was dark and mysterious-looking, with a compact body and very muscular hands. There was something in his voice that made it soothing and exciting at the same time.

                Apparently, he was attracted to me too, ·because before lunch was over, he invited me to have dinner with him that same evening. Cautiously, I accepted. I was lonely, but after the horrible experience I had recently been through, I was unwilling to get involved in anything like a relationship. We dined at a nice restaurant and shared a bottle of Beaujolais. I found Frank witty and entertaining. But when he suggested a nightcap at his apartment, I made up an excuse about having to get home early. Frank laughed. “Let’s face it,” he said. “I’m trying to get you into bed, and you’re turning me down.” I was flustered, but he laughed again. “I’m just being Frank,” he said. “How about dinner tomorrow?”

                We went out twice more that first week and three times the next. Each time we did, Frank invited me to his bed, and I repeated my refusal. It may sound strange in this day and age, but I had slept with only one man. I was curious about how it would be with Frank, but I was convinced that all men were like my ex-husband, incapable of understanding a woman’s sexual needs. After our tenth or eleventh date, my curiosity got the better of me. I agreed to accompany Frank to his place, but deep down I was expecting disappointment.

                Frank surprised me. He was considerate and thorough. He kissed and caressed me until I was completely aroused. Then, slowly and artfully, he undressed me. Postponing the fulfillment of his own needs, he attended to mine. His fingers found my most sensitive spots. His lips nibbled at all the right places. By the time he entered me, I was only a moment away from orgasm. After I came, he continued thrusting inside me until I was ready again. This time, he climaxed with me. When it was over, we lay together in silence, our arms and legs intertwined. I never knew that sex could be so good. After that night, Frank and I saw each other regularly. Neither of us was ready to get involved in any kind of deep commitment, but I didn’t go out with anyone else, and neither did he. We had dinner together almost every night. Afterward we made love, either in his place or mine. We occasionally spent the whole night together, but most of the time we parted, sleeping separately in our own apartments.

                Frank was a wonderful lover. Sex wasn’t just the ending to an evening out. He made it part of everything we did. Sometimes he would call me at work and whisper hoarsely about some fantasy that he was having. Other times he would describe things we did the night before, using that frenetic radio voice he usually reserved for announcing hits on his show. He even found a way to turn sporting events into sex games. We’re both ardent fans and we spend lots of evenings together watching sports on Frank’s big-screen TV. Sometimes we make bets with erotic payoffs. If the shooter makes the basket, I have to give Frank a blowjob. If the batter strikes out, Frank has to go down on me for fifteen minutes without stopping. That sort of thing. Usually, we wait till the game is over before the winner gets to collect. By then the anticipation builds to heat up the session that follows. In fact, one of those bets led to the best sex I ever had.

                It was a boxing match-a ·championship bout. The challenger was about fifteen years older than the champ, and I predicted that the champ would knock him out within the first three rounds. Frank insisted that the fight would go the limit and that the challenger would win it by a decision. I was so sure he was wrong that I was prepared to bet the farm. In a flash of inspiration, Frank proposed the heaviest stakes ever. “A weekend,” he said. “The loser has tq be the winner’s sex slave for an entire weekend.” “Okay,” I said smugly. “You’ll have to do everything I say from the time work ends Friday until midnight Sunday night.” Frank laughed. “It’s going to be the other way around, I assure you,” he said. “But let’s make sure we have this straight. You’re betting on the champ, and I’m picking the challenger. The winner will be master for the whole weekend. The loser is the slave and has to do everything the winner says.” ”Agreed,” I answered, certain of victory.

                The match ended just as Frank said it would. He sat there grinning, his mind obviously working on the things he was planning to make me do. The idea of being his sex slave rather appealed to me. I found myself becoming aroused anticipating the erotic weekend that lay ahead. We didn’t see each other on Thursday because Frank had to work late at the station. On Friday, he called me at least fifteen times to remind me of my enslavement. The last call came just a couple of minutes before five as I was preparing to leave my office. He phoned to say authoritatively that I was to be at his apartment by six, ready to serve him. In a seductive voice, I told him that I was looking forward to it. I was imagining a sort of romantic submission in which he put little silver chains on my ankles and made me wear a studded collar while I served him dinner in bed. Then he would make passionate love to me, forcing me to have one orgasm after another.

                Frank had a different kind of slavery in mind. When I entered his apartment, he was sitting in an easy chair like a king on a throne. I started toward him for a hello kiss when, with a curt gesture of his hand, he commanded me to stop. “Right there, slave,” he said. “Strip!” I felt myself tingling all over. His voice was so harsh, his tone so dominant. He sounded so impersonal, ordering me to remove my clothes while he just sat and watched. I trembled with excitement and reached back to unzip my dress. “Do it slowly,” he commanded. “Tum around so I can watch the zipper come down.” The idea that he would enjoy something as simple as that aroused me tremendously. It made me feel sexy and desirable. I knew that I was in for an evening of erotic bliss. Facing away from him, I obeyed, unzipping as gradually as I could. I tried to picture the black lace of my bra and panties coming slowly into view. When I was ready to step out of the dress, he barked, “Now face me, slave girl. I want to see your tits.”

                The brutal tone of his command inflamed me. As I turned, I lowered the dress from my shoulders. When I looked at him, I saw that his pants were open. He had his cock in his hand and was stroking it slowly while he stared at me. Stepping out of the dress, I tossed it aside and awaited his pleasure. “Take off the bra,” he said. “And rub your nipples.” Every word excited me. Watching me wriggle out of my bra, he continued fondling his hard .. on. My nipples, usually pink, were turning bright rosy red in my excitement. I had never performed this way before, not even in fantasy. Jolts of pleasure passed through me as I petted my breasts and twisted my nipples for his amusement. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter under his hungry gaze. . “Now the panties,” he commanded. “Take them off so I can see your pussy.”

                I found myself feeling a strange kind of delicious embarrassment. He had seen me naked many times, but this was different. I felt like a slave standing on· the auction block for inspection by my master. Frank licked his lips greedily as I reached for the waistband to draw the delicate lace over my thighs. Stepping out of it, I stood before him totally nude. ”Now rub your pussy,” he instructed. ”Put your fingers in it and hold yourself open so I can see.” He leaned forward, staring intently at my slit. “Move closer, slave girl,” he added. “I want a good look.” I took two steps toward him and began rubbing my juices all over the pouting lips of my sex. I was feeling totally stimulated, absorbed in my erotic performance and in his erotic ·commands. My love button was hard and swollen. I hoped that he could see it peeking through. I pictured his tongue on it. I couldn’t wait. “Now rub your clit for me,” he said. “And rub it good.” I started to comply, running my fingertips lightly in little circles around the sensitive nubbin. I hadn’t masturbated since Frank and I got together; it didn’t seem legitimate. But letting him watch me do it was different. It felt wonderful. I loved having his eyes on me while my fingers found my centers of pleasure.

                “That will have to be enough,” he said suddenly. “And I’m afraid it’s all you’re going to get until the weekend’s over, my slave.” I was shocked. “You’re kidding,” I said. “Aren’t you?” He reached out to hand me something. “Not kidding at all,” he answered. “Now put this on.” I never· knew such a thing existed. It was a kind of corset made of black leather. The crotch was closed by a thick leather flap sewn onto the back and fastened in the front with a stout-looking brass lock. “What is this?” I asked, incredulous. “A chastity belt?” “Exactly,” he answered. “To make sure the slave girl’s pussy isn’t touched all weekend. Now put it on and come here.”

                I struggled into the medieval garment and stood in front of him. He inspected it carefully, yanking on the lock to make sure it was properly closed. Leaning back in his chair he said, “Now, give me a handjob.” His cock was standing straight up through his open fly. I waited a moment, thinking that he would. want to remove his clothes, but he sat there regally. Realizing that he expected me to service him just the way he was, I dropped to my knees before him. Taking his erect penis in my hand, I felt a thrill run through my body. I know it sounds weird, but the idea of being his sex object and doing whatever I was told was marvelously arousing. I stroked him obediently, feeling his sex muscle swell against my fingers. Within moments, his come was spurting into the air. It was exciting to see him get off so fast. “Very good,” he said. “Now suck me till I get hard again.” Leaning over his lap, I felt the leather crotch-flap pull tight against my vagina. Every movement of my body caused it to constrict, erotically stimulating my sensitive membranes. I mouthed his flaccid penis while the heat built up inside me. The salty taste turned me on even more.

                I licked him hungrily, certain that he would reward me with intercourse when I got him fully erect. It didn’t take long for his cock to become turgid within the warmth of my mouth. When I felt it throbbing to full capacity, I drew back and touched the head lightly with the tip of my tongue. · “Don’t you want to unlock this now?” I whispered. “I’d love to feel you in me.” “No way,” he said. “You’re my slave. Finish me with your mouth.” Still believing that the evening would end with his hardness inside me, I tongued him to climax. “I think I’ll have you draw my bath now,” he said when his orgasm ended. “Then you can bathe me, and maybe I’ll even let you get me off again, in the tub.”

                I was beginning to think he was serious about not touching my pussy all weekend. By the time his bath was finished, I knew it was so. He made me lather his cock and balls with hot water and soap and rub him with slippery foam until he came again. Throughout the weekend, I gave him orgasm after orgasm. I used every possible way that he or I could imagine, so long as my pussy wasn’t involved. I played with his ass and sucked his cock. I stroked him with my fingers and with the soles of my feet. I held his hard-0n between my tits and moved up and down until his hot sperm shot into my cleavage. I tickled his entire body with my long hair and blew hot breath on his genitals. I kissed his lips· and his nipples while I jerked him off. He never so much as touched me. I was his slave entirely. He made me wear the chastity belt all the time, even when we were sleeping. He unlocked it when I needed to use the bathroom, only to refasten it as soon as I was finished. The leather flap across my pussy stimulated me almost to the point of orgasm and kept me hanging there interminably. My arousal peaked and remained at the summit for hours at a time.

                The sight of his swollen cock spurting into the air or onto my breasts and thighs brought me trembling to the brink of the abyss. The things I did to his body made my insides tingle with erotic hunger. Each moment took me higher, each sub.missive act further inflaming my passions. Sometimes he let me think that he might be merciful and permit me to have a climax. Just a little ·one to tide me over. Once he even put the key in the lock on my chastity belt, sadistically changing his mind at the last minute. He teased and tantalized me, asking if I’d like to get fucked. I wanted to scream, “Yes, yes, yes. Please fuck me. Please oh please oh please.” But I soon learned that he was immovable.

                By Sunday evening, I was watching the clock and counting the hours. Although my erotic appetite was overwhelming, I actually enjoyed my role as obedient slave. I had never been in so intense a state of sexual excitement for so long a period of time. For the past forty-eight hours, I’d been having sex in one form or another almost continuously. If I had been free to climax, it would have been over a long time ago. Instead, the sustained excitement was like an endless orgasm. Frank seemed to understand this and had a way of increasing my stimulation each time he came. At ten P.M., Frank said, “You’ve been such a good slave that I think I’m going to reward you.” When he fitted the key into the lock on my chastity belt, I thought he was taunting me again. But this time, he turned it and opened the lock. Pulling the flap open, he freed my hungry sex from its constricting prison. The fresh air bathed my moist membranes, caressing me like a lover’s kiss. Uttering a strangled groan, Frank fell on me, pressing his face against the damp cushion of hair that surrounded my pussy. He began kissing and licking me, his lips and tongue moving furiously up and down the length of my slit. He had been as hungry for my sex as I was for his. The moment the tip of his tongue found the button of my clit, I started to come. The sexual energy that had been building in me demanded release. My erotic hunger cried out as I gorged myself on the movements of his mouth.

                My first orgasm was still bursting from my womb when I felt him carrying me toward my second. The waves of bliss were so potent that I tangled my fingers in his hair, trying to pull his face away so I could regain my strength. Heedless, he licked on, lifting my spirit to a plane of shuddering ecstasy. My passionate screams filled the air as climax followed climax, the second barely ending before the third began to build. The muscles of my abdomen went tense, my back arching to lift my body off the mattress. I pressed my thighs to the sides of his head and bucked wildly against his nibbling lips and his thrusting tongue. Only after my fourth orgasm was spent did he let me fall back against the bed to rest for a moment before mounting me.

                How could I take more after all those thundering climaxes? How could I possibly be ready to feel his cock inside me? How could I endure more stimulation so soon? Somehow I did! As he. slid slowly into my palpitating vagina, my excitement soared again. I was acutely conscious of the membranes of my sex parting before the onslaught of his plundering penis. He was filling me, stuffing me with the thick heft of his manhood. All the waiting was worthwhile. Nothing had ever felt this explosively pleasurable before. I clawed at his back as he drove rhythmically in and out of me, each stroke taking me up another notch on the perilous climb to total release. I tottered at the edge, frightened of the final plunge. I felt my consciousness slipping away. I was merging with the cosmic flow, my juices floating me to nirvana. For one aching moment, I clung desperately to the earth. Then Frank’s thrusting cock tore me loose, casting me spinning through the vastness of erotic space. I thought my orgasm would go on forever. Totally unaware, I sang my pleasure to the heavens. Frank joined me, adding his manly groans to the harmony of our fulfillment.

                Later, Frank carried me gently to the bath, tenderly lowering me into the hot water. Lovingly, he bathed me, soothing the sex muscles that had strained with pleasure until they were fatigued. Then, after drying me with a soft thick towel, he carried me to bed and held me in his arms until I fell into a smiling satisfied sleep. We’ve had lots of good sex since then, and I’m sure there’s lots more of it ahead of us. I’ll never forget that weekend though. I starved for two and a half days in a state of excruciating excitement before feasting on the best sex I ever had.

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                  THE WEDDING FEAST

                  Thursday, December 3rd, 2015

                  Michael is thirty-nine years old and has been a successful New York theater musician for more than.half his life. He sports· a sixty-dollar haircut, his shoulder-length hair carefully layered to preserve a well-groomed appearance. Its shiny black color contrasts dramatically with the steel gray of his eyes. He is lean and agile at a height of six foot-two. A one-carat diamond stud flashes in his left earlobe to call attention to his masculine good looks. When we ask about the best sex he ever had, he wistfully recalls his wedding night, ten years ago.

                  I started playing the drums kind of late in life. I was eleven. Most pros start before they’re seven. I learned fast, though, and was playing in a neighborhood rock band by the time I was fifteen. At nineteen, I got my first job on Broadway, in the orchestra for a hit musical. The show ran four years and I worked the whole time. When it closed, I got a gig with another musical right away. Since then, I’ve worked steadily, one show after another, with never more than a week or two between gigs. That’s how I met Sandy. It was about eleven years ago. I was twenty-eight, and she was twenty seven. A friend of mine who was playing sax in a new show invited me to a party to celebrate the opening of rehearsals. It was at somebody’s posh Park Avenue apartment, one of those open house kind of affairs with people drifting in and out all night. I noticed Sandy the minute she entered the room. You might say it was a case of lust at first sight. She had long, straight blond hair, the softest I’ve ever seen, and eyes the color of sapphires. She was tall and thin, with small breasts and tight little buns. Her curvy muscular legs tipped me off to her occupation.

                  I grabbed two glasses of champagne and headed straight toward her. “Welcome,” I said, handing her a glass. “I bet you’re a dancer.” She flashed me a smile that could have melted steel and looked me over carefully from head to toe. “And you must be a drummer,” she answered, sipping the champagne. “Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “One look at those gorgeous legs told me that you’re a dancer. But how did you know that I play drums?” She smiled knowingly. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime,” she said softly. “When we know each other better.” Her voice was deep and husky, making her words sound like sexy music. “Oh? Do you think we will?” I asked. My mind was racing, trying to remember whether I had ever met her before. I knew I couldn’t have, because I never would have forgotten some one like her.

                  She wasn’t coy or cutesy, like a lot of women would have been in that situation. She just looked me in the eye and said, “Yes. I think we will.” She was right, of course. We talked and laughed together for an hour or so, only half aware that there was a crowded party going on around us. After what I thought was a decent interval, I suggested that we go somewhere for a drink, and she immediately agreed. We found a quiet comer in a cocktail lounge. When our drinks arrived, I said, “Well, do you think we know each other well enough yet? How could you tell I’m a drummer?” Sandy affected an expression of mystery. “It might ha ye been your hands,” she said. “Or it might have been the rhythm of your movements. But probably it was when I saw you coming toward me with those two glasses of champagne, I asked a friend who you were, and she told me.” I laughed heartily. What a great sense of humor. We stayed in the lounge for a while to continue our conversation. Although we played at courtship sparring, we both knew how the evening would end. Within hours we were writhing in bed together in her apartment.

                  We went out again the next night and started seeing each other a few times a week from that point on. Sandy worked in the chorus of a musical a few blocks from where I played. We would meet for drinks and dinner after work and end up at her place, where we would make love until the wee hours. We started ·spending more and more time together. I found that when I wasn’t with her, I was thinking about her and longing for her. After only three months, I asked her to move in with me, and she accepted. Because her apartment was larger and more centrally located than mine, I actually ended up moving in with her. Everything was great, right from the start. We ate together, laughed together, slept together, and enjoyed life together. Every night after work at 10:30, we both rushed home to make passionate love.

                  There was something about our sexual communication that made it clear that we were right for each other. I’d been with a lot of sexy women before that. You know how show business is. But no other woman ever satisfied me the way Sandy did. For one thing, I have a powerful appetite, always hungry for sex. Every night. Every morning. And in the middle of the day too, if I can get it. None of the other women I knew could keep up with me. Most of the time, after their first orgasm, they were ready to roll over and go to sleep. I always wanted more. Oh, some would try to accommodate me, but I could tell that their hearts weren’t really in it. With Sandy it was different. She had the same urgent sexual drive as I did. When she came back for seconds, I knew that it was because she wanted it as much as I. I didn’t usually go to work until evening, but she was rehearsing a new show and had to work all afternoon. Some .. times she’d call me from rehearsal to say that she was getting a break and heading home. When that happened, I’d wait for her, naked, in our apartment. As soon as she opened the door, I’d pounce on her, stripping off her clothes and scattering them around the room as I pulled her to the bed or dragged her to the floor. She didn’t usually get more than twenty or thirty minutes off, so we’d start making love immediately and keep it up until the last possible second.

                  At night, we would have more time for leisure. Sometimes our foreplay would last for hours. We would take turns at massaging each other or kissing each other’s bodies, until the kisses turned to oral sex. We would bring each other right to the edge of orgasm before stopping to switch roles. She satisfied all my urges, all my wants, all my erotic desires. And I knew I was satisfying her. It wasn’t just sex, either. We were deeply in love with each other. We both knew that it was only a matter of time before we got married. I brought up the subject of marriage after we had been living together for eight months. Sandy agreed at once, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. We set the date, reserved a ballroom in a Midtown hotel, and started inviting friends and families.

                  One night, about two weeks before the wedding, Sandy surprised me. As usual, I hurried home right after work, looking forward to several hours of steamy sex. But my fiancee had other ideas. When I arrived, she Was still fully dressed. I noticed a suitcase in our apartment’s entrance hall.

                  I was horrified. Was she leaving me? Had she changed her mind about the wedding? “Sandy,” I asked nervously. “What’s going on?” “Don’t worry, my love,” she said in a voice that calmed me. “I’ve been thinking about something and I want to tell you about it. “You see,” she continued. “Like every girl in the world, I always dreamed about my wedding night. I always wanted it to be something special. But the way we’re living, it won’t be special at all. We’ll wake up together, have breakfast together, and get dressed together just like we do every day. Then we’ll go to the wedding together and come home together afterward. Now what’s special about that?”

                  I saw her point, but I couldn’t imagine how she intended to change things. “I guess you’re right,” I said. “But that’s life in the modem world. After all, we’ve been living together for almost a year. There’s nothing we can do about that now.” “Well, in a way there is,” she answered. “If we don’t live together between now and then, our wedding night can seem like something special.” Now I understood the suitcase that I had seen when I came in. In a strange way it made sense, but I didn’t like it. ”My friend Kathryn has a lovely apartment overlooking the river,” she continued. “She left for Europe this morning and gave me her key. I’ve arranged for you to house-sit for the next two weeks.” I was stunned. “What?” I stammered. “You mean you’re kicking me out?”

                  “Don’t look at it that way, Michael,” she said in a soothing voice. ”Think of it as an investment in our future. After two weeks of not sleeping together, our wedding night will be so hot and sizzling that we’ll remember it for the rest of our lives.” As she spoke, she undid two of the buttons at the front of her blouse. I became hard at once. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound logical. “Maybe there’s a better way. I mean, two weeks seems kind of drastic.

                  Suppose we just agree not to have sex for two or three nights before our wedding.” “No, no,” she said in the husky whisper that had helped hook me on her in the first place. “I promise you a night that’ll be worth waiting for. After two weeks without it, we’ll be so turned on that there isn’t anything we won’t be ready to do.” She undid another button and leaned over to lick my ear with the tip of her tongue. “Let me tell you some of the things I have in mind,” she whispered, reaching for my hand and placing it inside the open front of her blouse. I cupped her breasts, feeling her erect nipples poking against the inside of her bra. I was painfully hard, throbbing inside my pants.

                  She started describing the most exciting sex acts I could imagine, promising me a night filled with bliss. She told me exactly where she would put her fingers and her tongue. She told me about an erotic dance she was creating especially for the occasion, a dance that would arouse me more than I had ever been aroused. She promised to do things I had always dreamed of, and some I had never dreamed of. She alluded to positions so unusual that we had never even tried them before. All the while, she was blowing her hot breath in my ear and nibbling it. I was so turned on that I would have gone along with anything. “Okay, my love,” I murmured. “It’s a crazy idea, but if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.” As I spoke, I slipped my fingers inside her bra to search for the glowing ember of her nipple. Before I found it, Sandy pulled away from me, leaving my empty hand poised in midair.

                  “Quick,” I said. “Let’s go to bed right now. If it’s going to be the last time until the wedding, I want to get started right away. I’ll pack in the morning.” “No, my darling,” Sandy said, re buttoning her blouse. “This morning was the last time until the wedding. Your suitcase is already packed. Here’s the key to Kathryn’s place. The address is on this slip of paper.” “What?” I sputtered. “Why tonight? Why can’t we just sleep together once more before this prison sentence begins?” “No,” she repeated firmly, opening the door. “You’re out of here right now.” “But … ” Without quite knowing how it happened, I found myself standing outside the closed door of our apartment with a suitcase in one hand and her friend’s key in the other. I turned to ring the bell but stopped myself, realizing that her mind was made up and there was no chance of changing it. For the next two weeks, I went slowly crazy. We talked to each other on the phone two or three times a day, but never for more than a few minutes. She always managed to find some excuse when I asked her to meet me, saying that she was very busy at rehearsal or that she had too many other things to do. I missed her terribly and I was counting the days.

                  To make matters worse, I was horny as hell. Without any warning, I had gone from feast to famine. Sandy and I had been having sex several times a day, and suddenly I was on a sexual starvation diet. I tried jerking off, but that just didn’t fill the bill. Once I even tried doing it while talking to her on the phone, figuring that it would be a little like making love. She knew instantly, though, from the sound of my breathing. ”Now, you cut that out,” she said. Embarrassed, I stopped. As soon as we were off the phone, I finished what I had started, but it just wasn’t enough. I was beginning to find it difficult to sleep at night, tossing and turning for hours between twenty- or thirty-minute snatches of slumber. My erection never seemed to go away, and when I rolled around restlessly in my solitary bed, it pressed painfully against the mattress. I lost my appetite and was losing weight as a result. I never realized how sexual starvation could gnaw at a person day after day, night after night.

                  I couldn’t even concentrate on my work. I beat out my rhythms mechanically, relying on reflexes that I developed in the year or so that the show had been running. Instead of thinking about the music, I was thinking about my erotic needs. The worst part was knowing that they wouldn’t be fulfilled when work was finished or when the night was over. It seemed that I had been living like a monk for centuries, although it hadn’t been quite two weeks. It was sheer agony. By the time our wedding day rolled around, all I could think about was making love to Sandy. Never mind the ceremony. Never mind the reception. I wanted the honeymoon to start right away. I was obsessing. I was so hungry for sex that my body ached. I wasn’t at all sure that I’d be able to get the pants of my wedding suit on over my hard-on. I think I lost contact with reality for a while. In my mind, the wedding had turned into a night of lovemaking on a bed of passion. When I arrived at the hall and saw the room filled with guests, I realized that the consummation of our desires was still several eternal hours away. My brother, who was acting as my best man, thought I had the jitters because I was having second thoughts about getting married. Boy, was he mistaken. I wanted that ceremony more than anything I ever wanted before.

                  I don’t remember much about it other than some hastily mumbled “I do’s” and a voice pronouncing us man and wife. I had reserved a room in that very hotel and wanted to rush up to it as soon as the ceremony ended. But there was still that endless dinner and reception to sit through. All the guests were eating and drinking and having a ball. Everyone but me. Food and dancing were the last things on my mind. All I wanted was to roll my bride in my arms, kiss her, and make wonderful love to her. When the band struck up “A Groovy Kind of Love,” everyone called for Sandy and me to dance alone. As we glided across the floor, I held my wife tightly against me, fearful that the bulge of my erection would embarrass me. “Let’s get out of here,” I murmured. “Everybody’s having a good time. No one will notice if we slip away. Isn’t that what newlyweds do?”

                  “Oh, silly,” she said, giggling like a virgin. “We haven’t even cut the cake yet.” I could tell that she was enjoying the wait, pleased by my hunger for her. Later, as our friends took turns proposing toasts to the newly married couple, I asked her again if we could leave. She shook her head coquettishly, saying, “Our guests, Michael. We mustn’t forget our guests.” Finally, as the waiters were pouring coffee, she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Now, my darling husband. Take me to our room and make love to me.” My knees were shaking as I stood and took her hand. Trying to be unobtrusive, I led her through the double doors to the elevators. My heart was pounding. I held her and kissed her as the elevator whisked us to the honeymoon suite. Opening the door, I lifted her and carried her inside. “Oh, God,” I said. ”Those ·were the longest two weeks in my life. I never want to go through anything like that again.” Sandy just smiled. “It will be worth it, darling,” she said. “You’ll see.” With that, she stepped back and lifted the skirt and petticoats of her wedding gown, exhibiting the lacy garter belt that held up her stockings. I gasped. She was not wearing panties.

                  “I’m yours now,” she said. “Come and take me.” I fell to my knees and pressed my lips to the milky skin at the tops of her thighs. As I kissed and nuzzled, she lowered the skirts so that I was inside the dress with her. Famished, I devoured her sex flesh. The moment my tongue touched her sensitive button, I heard her begin to groan rhythmically. She was coming already. Obviously, my bride was as hungry as I. Without waiting to catch her breath, she stepped away from me as soon as her orgasm was finished and unzipped my fly. Holding my erection tenderly in her loving hand, she bent forward and took it into her mouth, bringing me to climax within seconds. Then she led me to the bed and guided me down onto it. “We’ve finished starving,” she said. “Now the real banquet will begin.”

                  She began to dance for me, slowly and tantalizingly stripping off her clothing as she undulated to music playing in her head. The movements of her body were intensely erotic, bringing me to renewed erection almost instantly. When all her garments were removed, she danced naked, making age old gestures with her hips and pelvis that seemed to say, “Fuck me, fuck me.” Her body swayed, arousing us both until we were ready to. begin making love slowly and patiently, time after time, till night turned to day. Sometimes we came singly, one of us passive while the other gave pleasure. Then, immediately, we changed roles so that passive receiver became active giver. Sometimes we came. together, striving in rhythm until the ecstasy of simultaneous orgasms made us fill the air with cries and sobs of satisfied desire. Even after that, we continued making love, moving without stop from one thundering climax to the next.

                  Sometime the following morning, we drifted off to sleep. We clutched at each other as if we both feared another separation like the one we had endured. When we woke, we loved again, trying desperately to make up for all we had missed. That evening, we left for a short honeymoon· in the Caribbean. During it, neither of us saw much of anything outside our honeymoon bedchamber, where we spent hours and hours each day and night satisfying our undying appetites. Our wedding night and the days that followed it were filled with the best sex either of us ever had.

                  There’s no doubt that the period of sexual starvation prior to our wedding sharpened our desires and honed the cutting edge of our passion. Although we’ve been married for ten years, we haven’t lost any of our sexual hunger. Sometimes, though, when we want to add a special spice to our life, we deliberately starve ourselves for a week or two. We talk about sex but refrain from all sexual contact until a predetermined day. Then we feast, indulging in an erotic banquet that always begins with Sandy’s dance of the veils and never ends until our rapacious cravings are satiated.

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                    Thursday, December 3rd, 2015

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

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

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