CLICK HERE!

Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

GETTING OFF ON THE WEEKEND

Sunday, February 16th, 2020

tied brunette milf pantyhose hairy pussy

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.

FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

Be Sociable, Share!

    Higher Education

    Wednesday, January 29th, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    I looked at her in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    From the comer of my eye, I happened to see her nameplate on the edge of her desk. It reminded me of where I was and who I was with. I knew that I was playing with 6.re, but desire had me by the balls, and as always, it was lust over logic. Besides, in a way it was probably the danger of the situation that made it so exciting. Can you imagine what would happen to a bonehead who got caught with his pants down in the dean’s office?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ”Fuck me,” she said again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

    Be Sociable, Share!

      SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION

      Wednesday, January 15th, 2020

      A marriage counselor once told a couple that their relationship would improve if they injected more spontaneity into their sex life. “Instead of planning it, just make love whenever the mood strikes,” she advised them. On their next visit to her office, the couple reported that they had taken her advice and that, although their marriage had improved as a result, they were no longer welcome _in their favorite restaurant. Sexual urges are not the products of discipline or training. They are always bubbling in the caldera of our unconscious minds. Like lava, they spring forth whenever they find an opening, regardless of any sense of propriety about time or place.

      Predetermining when and where sexual intercourse will occur is like attempting to tame the forces of Nature itself. The results are often disastrous. Sex loses its novelty when it becomes scheduled or routine. This may cause a relationship to grow stale and lackluster. The excitement of making love on impulse can restore the glitter, even if it does offend the headwaiter.

      There is, of course, a middle ground. Life offers many opportunities for indulging erotic desires without falling to the floor in the local supermarket or coupling on the photocopy machine in the middle of the office. Adventurous couples can always find a place for unscheduled sex without risking arrest for public lewdness.

      The people who tell their stories in this blog are of different ages and varied walks of life. What they have in common is that they all discovered the benefits of sexual spontaneity. The joy that is apparent as they recount their experiences is a suggestion of the pleasures that await those who are willing to change their plans at a moment’s notice to accommodate their sexual needs.

      FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

      Be Sociable, Share!

        SEEING AND BEING SEEN

        Monday, January 13th, 2020

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

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

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

        FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

        Be Sociable, Share!

          ANNIVERSARY

          Saturday, January 11th, 2020

          amateur milf blowjob

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

          Be Sociable, Share!

            DISCOVERIES

            Thursday, January 9th, 2020

            At thirty, Lou is the owner of his own bicycle shop, having parlayed a college sport into an occupation. He is five-foot-eight, with a lithe and muscular bod, that gives the impression, an accurate one, of great strength. His eyes are brown and his sandy hair is fashionably styled. Lou looks up from a wheel that he is straightening to tell us about his most erotic experience.

            Tracy and I practically grew up together. Her family moved into the house next door to mine when we were in the fifth grade. She was a cutie at the age of eleven, built like a boy but wearing frilly girl clothes. My mom said that it would be nice if I walked her to school on her first day and introduced her to the other kids. So I did. After that, we became the best of friends. Tracy and I were in the same class throughout grammar school and junior high school. Most of the guys I knew had other guys for best friends, and most of the girls had other girls. But Tracy and I had each other. We did everything together. We studied together, we joined the same clubs at school, we were even co-stars in the school play.

            When we weren’t with each other, we would talk on the telephone for hours. We told each other everything. I remember when Tracy had her first period. She told me before she even told her mother. Tracy started going out with boys and I started going out with girls when we were in high school. Naturally, we told each other all about our dates in explicit detail. At first the conversations were about where we went, with whom, what we did, what movies we saw. As we began to discover sex, we talked about that, too.

            I remember telling Tracy about the first time a girl let me touch her breasts. I was so excited, I thought I had finally arrived at the gates of heaven. Tracy knew the girl. “Ooh, she’s got big ones,” she said. “I wish I had boobs that size. Did she let you put your hand inside her bra?” Somehow it seemed perfectly natural for her to be asking me questions like that, and I was completely comfortable answering them. I told her how exciting it was to feel the girl’s nipples get hard when I touched them and how I was hoping that on the next date I would be able to see them, maybe even suck on them.

            “Last night I went out with Bobby,” she said. “And he wanted to feel my titties.” “Did you let him?” I asked, breathless with curiosity. “No,” she said, adding thoughtfully, “but I think I will at the drive-in tomorrow night. After all, I don’t want you getting too far ahead of me.” A couple of years later, Tracy told me that she finally had sexual intercourse. We were juniors in high school. She had been dating a college sophomore. She said he made her feel that if she didn’t do it with him it would mean that she was still a child. She confessed that the actual screwing didn’t feel all that good because it was over so fast, but the best part was when he licked her right before getting on top of her.

            I was fascinated. I had heard of girls giving guys blowjobs, but it never occurred to me that a guy might do the same thing to a girl. After Tracy described how good it felt when he put his tongue inside her and all around her opening, I was dying to try it myself. There was a girl named Ginger that all the guys said would do it with anybody. As soon as I got off the phone with Tracy, I called Ginger and asked her out. She said that her parents were away for the evening and invited me to come to her house. I practically ran. . The minute I knocked, Ginger pulled the door open and began kissing me. Within minutes we were both naked, and Ginger was lying back on the couch with her legs spread wide. I just stood there staring, my eyes riveted to her crotch. I was mesmerized by the delicate pink slit with its thick pouting lips nestling in the midst of that hairy jungle.

            Falling to my knees beside the couch, I clumsily started kissing and licking her moist tissues. I was a real klutz, unsure of my movements, afraid that my lack of experience would sh’ow. After a few minutes, though, I started to experiment, discovering ways to make Ginger groan and sigh. Strange as it seemed, I found myself imagining that I was with Tracy. Eventually, I mounted Ginger and thrust myself inside her. My first experience at intercourse was a lot like Tracy’s. It was over too fast for me to feel anything. When we were done, all I really wanted to do was rush off and get to a phone so I could tell Tracy about it. Tracy had a million and one questions. What did it taste like? What did it feel like? How did Ginger act while I was doing it? I described the whole episode to Tracy. I think that my conversation with her actually turned out to be more exciting than the things I had done with Ginger.

            After high school, Tracy and I went away to colleges at different ends of the country. Even though we couldn’t afford to talk on the phone as much as we used to, we stayed in touch by card and letter. We remained as close as ever, continuing to share our experiences. I called her a few weeks before our first Christmas vacation, and we talked for a while about our classes and that sort of thing. As usual, the conversation turned to more intimate matters. I started telling her about a girl I had been seeing, but when I got to the sex part, I found myself becoming uncomfortable. I just couldn’t bring myself to discuss the explicit details the way I always had. And Tracy didn’t seem to be asking her usual questions. When she told me about a guy she was dating, she seemed to be selecting her words rather carefully. It was obvious that she had been to bed with him, but she wasn’t saying much about it, and I wasn’t asking. In fact, without even thinking, I mumbled something about a paper that was due the next morning and hurried off the phone.

            That night I just couldn’t get to sleep. I lay in bed for hours, thinking about our conversation. I was imagining Tracy with another guy. I could see them in bed together, naked, rolling in each other’s arms. The images were so horrible that they made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling this way. It wasn’t until the morning light began creeping through my window that I realized I was jealous. The reason I was jealous was that I was in love with Tracy. Suddenly, I understood that I had been in love with her ever since we were eleven. I was too dumb, too stupid, too blind to recognize it until now. I felt like I had been struck between the eyes with a sledgehammer. I was stunned. At first I didn’t know what to do about it. Tracy was my best friend. I always told her everything. I wanted to call her immediately and tell her about my discovery, but I was afraid. If she didn’t feel the same way, would this be the end of our friendship?

            It was risky, but I had no choice. Now that the feeling was out, I’d never be able to contain it. It was only six A.M., but l reached for the phone. Tracy answered on the first ring. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Did I wake you?” “No,” she replied with no trace of sleep in her voice. “I’ve been up all night.”

            “Me, too,” I said. Then, taking a deep breath, I blurted out everything I was feeling. Frightened of what she might say, I kept talking as fast as I could until I had to stop for a breath. When I did, I heard Tracy laughing. “I love you, too,” she said at last. “Why did it take us “this long to figure it out? Are we the stupidest people in the world, or what?” We must have talked for an hour, babbling on about our feelings for each other. I never felt better in my life. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the whole world was wonderful. We spoke on the phone again that night. And the next night. And the night after that. All we could think about was Christmas vacation, less than three weeks away. We were both going home and we would be together at last. In one of our conversations, Tracy said, “Do you realize we’ve known each other since we were kids and we’ve never even kissed?”

            When she said it, something suddenly dawned on me. Ever since the morning when I discovered how I felt about her, my head had been in the clouds. I had been thinking abstractly, my mind filled with rosy thoughts of love and eternity. The concept was so new that sharing these thoughts seemed like an end in itself. But Tracy’s words brought me back to earth. In a few weeks I would be seeing her, holding her, kissing her. We would be making love. The thought excited me more than anything ever had before. “Tracy,” I murmured. “I can’t wait to feel my lips against yours. I can’t wait to taste your breath.” ”I want to feel your hands on my body,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement.

            For a few moments, we were silent, both of us imagining the things we would discover together. Then, in a tentative whisper, Tracy said, “Lou, tell me what you’re going to do to me.” I remembered our high school conversation about the night she lost her virginity. I remembered how disappointed she was that it was over so quickly and how excited it made her to talk about oral sex. “I’m going to take my time,” I said. “I’m going to lick you until you beg me to stop.” Her soft sensual sigh induced me to go on. “I want to put my tongue inside you and slowly explore you with my mouth. I’ll kiss and nibble your most sensitive places while you tell me the parts you like best. I want you to teach me how to please you like no body ever has.” “Yes,” she said. “I want us to do things together that neither one of us has ever done before.” The next night we talked about oral sex again. Nervously, I admitted that I had never tried sixty-nine. I was fearful that she would tell me that she had done it with someone else and that, if she did, my jealousy would be overwhelming. I was relieved when she said, “You mean both of us doing it at the same time. Oooh, I’ve always wanted to try that.”

            We talked about it for hours, imagining together how it would feel when we finally got to do it. I described the position I had always fantasized about. I would lie on my back while she straddled me above. Her knees would be on either side of my head; her face would hover over my groin. She would lower herself slowly so that my mouth came into contact with her sex at the same moment that her mouth came into contact with mine. Our conversation was so hot I’m surprised the wires didn’t burn. At one point I noticed something peculiar about the sound of Tracy’s breathing. “Do you know what I’m doing right now?” she asked.

            I thought I did, but I said, “No. Tell me.” “Well,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve got my finger right where I want you to put your tongue. And I’m rubbing myself slowly and lightly, just the way I want you to lick me.” As she spoke, I began stroking myself, too. At first I just listened to her description of the way she was masturbating, allowing it to lift me to higher and higher levels of excitement. Then, when I felt that I was about to burst, I said, “Oh, Tracy, I’m doing it, too. I’m holding my cock and imagining that it’s your hand on me. I think I’m going to come.”

            “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes. But wait for me. Just another moment. Wait. Wait. Yes, oh yes. Yes, I’m going to come with you. Now. Yes, now.” Her words and the ·excitement in her voice carried me over the top. I closed my eyes at the moment I pumped my juices into the air. I pictured her hand around my cock, her mouth and tongue caressing my throbbing organ. I don’t know what excited me more: my orgasm or the image of her body writhing as her groans announced her climax. After that, we had sex on the telephone at least once a day, sometimes more often. Although our Christmas vacation was getting nearer and nearer, I thought we would die of anticipation. Our long .. distance lovemaking was stupendous, but we both knew that the real thing would be even more sensational. That last week before the break was ecstatic torment. We talked every morning and again every night. In between, I sneaked off to the bathroom four or five times a day to jerk off. I never felt completely satisfied.

            Neither of us was willing to wait any longer than necessary for our dreamed-0f reunion. Tracy and I agreed to meet at the airport, telling our parents that we would be arriving a day later than we actually were. My plane came in about an hour before Tracy’s, so when she got there I had already made arrangements for a night at a nearby motel. I drove us there in a rented car. It was a good thing there wasn’t any traffic, because I couldn’t concentrate on driving. In fact, I couldn’t think about anything other than getting into that room with her. The hotel clerk worked so slowly that I wanted to jump over the counter and strangle him. Finally, though, we got our key and headed for the elevator. If we had the elevator to ourselves, I think we would have made love on the way up. As it was, a family with enough luggage for a lifetime rode up with us, and we had to restrain ourselves until we were in the room. Once inside, we fell upon each other like a pair of hungry animals.

            The desire that had been building inside us for the last ten years got the better of us. We literally tore each other’s clothes off, tossing the tattered garments around us as we kissed and. grabbed at each other. I bit her nipples and squeezed her breasts until she squealed. She pulled so hard on my cock that it hurt me. But neither of us stopped or wanted the other to stop-not for a second. We sank to the floor, making frantic love on the carpet without a thought for the slow acts we had been discussing on the phone. All I wanted was to be inside her. All she wanted was to envelop me in her softness. We hardly moved before our cries signaled our sudden, simultaneous orgasm. After .. ward, we lay panting and gasping for breath, our arms tightly wound around each other’s bodies. A few minutes later, we began to make love again. This time we moved more slowly, each taking the time to explore the other with the loving curiosity that had been driving us. I kissed her nipples and stroked her soft white belly, while she ran her fingers over my chest and thighs.

            Lifting her, I rose from the floor and carried her to the bed, laying her gently across it. I stood for_ a moment, looking down at her glorious nudity, barely able to comprehend that she was mine, all mine at last. I felt tears flowing from my eyes and realized that she was also crying. Our mutual joy was overwhelming us. Slowly, I bent over her, burying my face between her thighs to sip the honey of her loving excitement. As I began licking her, I felt her hands on my buttocks. She nudged me gently, guiding me down onto the mattress beside her, rolling me onto my back. At the same time, she moved into position above me, straddling me the way we had imagined and described in our telephone conversations.

            I gazed up at her open vagina, its pink lips dotted with glistening diamonds of moisture. Slowly, tantalizingly, she lowered it toward my face. I could smell the fragrance of her as the space between us narrowed. When she was only a centimeter away from me, I thrust my tongue outward, stroking it lightly over her delicately parted lips. At that same moment, I felt the warm wetness of her mouth closing around the swollen tip of my pulsating penis.

            So slowly that the progress was almost imperceptible, she took me into her mouth. Following her lead, I slid my tongue gently between the membranes of her vulva. For what seemed like a century, we remained poised that way, tasting the spice of each other’s desire. Each of us slowly became accustomed to the delectable feel of the other’s oral explorations; each savored the taste of the other’s genital secretions. Our contact was so wonderful, so fulfilling, so exciting, that it was like the first time for both of us. We licked and sucked each other until we came to the brink of mutual climax. Then, as if by agreement, we retreated far enough down the slope to allow us to climb slowly to the peak once again. We continued pressing our mouths to each other’s genitals long into the night, each of us recalling the erotic descriptions that had inflamed our imaginations during our daily and nightly telephone conversations.

            We had so long anticipated this moment that neither of us wanted it to end. We drew it out for as long as we possibly could until both of us felt as though we would shatter if we did not allow our orgasms to release themselves. Then, each of us knowing instinctively when the other was ready, we let it happen. Our anticipation had prepared us for something spectacular, but it was even better than we had imagined. We sobbed together as the throes of our climax rocked the bed and filled the air with the scent of our passions. We kept making oral love until we drifted off on a cloud of contentment. Lying side by side, we reveled in our union.

            That night of our first sexual encounter was the best we ever had. I guess the build-up created by our explicit sex talk and the longing that we finally recognized as true love enhanced our fulfillment and increased the rewards we both felt. We spent the rest of the night trying to do all the other things we had discussed and envisioned, but we realized at last that one night would not be sufficient. We would have a lifetime to spend learning to please and delight each other. The following semester, I transferred to Tracy’s college so that we would never have to be apart again. A year later we were married, and now we are living happily ever after. Sometimes during the day, we talk to each other on the phone about the sex games we’re going to play in the evening. That little taste of anticipation always sparks our sexual appetites.

            FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

            Be Sociable, Share!

              EROTIC HOLIDAY

              Wednesday, January 8th, 2020

              short hair blonde ass naked

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

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

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

              FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

              Be Sociable, Share!

                APRIL’S SECRET DREAM

                Monday, January 6th, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

                Be Sociable, Share!

                  THE SWEET TORMENT OF ANTICIPATION

                  Friday, January 3rd, 2020

                  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.

                  FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

                  Be Sociable, Share!

                    SEXUAL STARVATION AND EROTIC BANQUETS

                    Thursday, January 2nd, 2020

                    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.

                    FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

                    Be Sociable, Share!