CLICK HERE!

Archive for the ‘Stories’ Category

THE WEDDING FEAST

Friday, May 31st, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

Be Sociable, Share!

    Interracial Taboo

    Sunday, May 26th, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

    Be Sociable, Share!

      THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE

      Saturday, May 25th, 2019

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

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

      FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

      Be Sociable, Share!

        LAS VEGAS OUTCALL

        Thursday, May 23rd, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

        FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

        Be Sociable, Share!

          EQUESTRIAN FANTASY

          Saturday, May 18th, 2019

          Barrie is forty-two years old. Her five-foot-seven-inch frame carries a voluptuous fleshiness that brings to mind a painting by Rubens. She wears her wavy chestnut hair long and loose. The color of her eyes, just a shade darker than her hair, emphasizes the olive of her complexion. Barrie’s husband, Gordon, owns a car dealership, which he inherited from his father. Barrie says that the best sex she ever had was on the day Gordon became the handsome prince of her adolescent dreams.

          About four years ago, Gordon and I found the vacation home that we had been searching for. It’s an old stone house in the woods on three hundred acres of land in the heart of Washington’s timber country. It’s only a few hours’ drive from the city where we live, but it feels like another world. As soon as we saw it, we knew it was for us. I liked the seclusion, but I think that what appealed most to Gordon was that the place needed a lot of fixing up. He said that working with his hands on the weekend would help him relax after a hard week in the city. Cedar and pine and fir trees grow over most of the land, but the area around the house is clear. There are a few outbuildings, a small ham, and a corral. When we bought the place, there was a white horse in our corral. It belonged to Fred Conklin, a neighbor who was in the process of building a new ham on his own land. When we moved in, Fred offered to remove the horse to a temporary shed that he had constructed, but I told him it wouldn’t be necessary. I liked seeing the horse there.

          Fred told me that he didn’t have time to do much riding and that we could ride Gunner whenever we wanted to. He said that Gunner was an old reliable trail horse who had been ridden through these woods for more than twenty years and probably knew them better than any human ever could. He frequently let Gunner out in the morning to graze on whatever wild grasses he could find. In the evening, Gunner always returned to the corral, where his oats and hay were waiting. Fred said that if Gordon and I really wanted to become familiar with our property, we ought to climb onto Gunner’s back and let him go wherever he wanted. Sooner or later we’d get to see all of our land that way. Fred said that Gunner was strong enough to carry two people. I liked the idea at once. I had done quite a bit of riding when I was a girl. In fact, I had my first sexual experience while riding a horse. I’ll never forget the first time that it happened to me. My parents had given me a chestnut quarter horse for my fourteenth birthday. I used to ride ev.ery day after school.

          At first I was real nervous. I’d cling to the pommel of my saddle so hard that my knuckles would tum white. After a while, though, I became more confident. Soon I was even riding without a saddle. That’s how it happened. I would bridle the horse and throw a thin blanket over his back. Then I would ride the neighborhood trails, holding on with my legs. As I bounced up and down against the horse’s backbone, I would get a warm sensation between my thighs. I didn’t quite know what it was, but I knew that it felt good. Sometimes, when I was.sitting in my clas~ at school, I would daydream about riding. But I’m sure it was really that tingly feeling that I would be thinking about.

          Then one day it happened. I was deliberately bouncing and rubbing myself against the horse’s back, feeling the sensation getting more and more intense. The crotch of my panties was getting moist, and I knew somehow that it wasn’t the horse’s sweat that was making me wet. Suddenly, with a gush of excitement, I exploded. For what seemed like an eternity, the rest of the world disappeared. I felt like I was spinning in the vortex of a giant whirlpool. It was a little frightening, because I felt that I had totally lost control of myself and my emotions. But it was wonderful. I hoped that it would never end and for a while I thought it wouldn’t. When it was over, I struggled to catch my breath, suddenly realizing that I was still on horseback and that not very much time had passed at all. I rode home immediately.

          The next day, I hurried to go riding after school again. This time I knew that I was riding for that feeling. I positioned myself as far forward as possible so that my pelvis was pressed tight against the base of the horse’s neck. With every step, the movements of his head rubbed his rigid backbone against the sensitive tissues between my legs. I hadn’t ridden half a mile when I felt the explosion begin. This time when it was over, I kept riding until I made it happen again. After that, I realized that I was in control. I could bring on that wonderful feeling any time I wanted to. A few months later one of the girls at school mentioned the word orgasm, and all the other girls said that they hoped they would get to have one some day. It was then that I realized what had been happening to me every afternoon when I rode my horse. I never told the other girls, though. It was my little secret.

          I began experimenting with different gaits and speeds, seating myself in various positions until I became an expert at masturbating on horseback: Eventually, I discovered that I could bring on the orgasms more quickly and make them more intense ifl didn’t wear underwear. I would ride in a long flared skirt, spreading it out around me so that no one would know that I was naked underneath it or that I was rubbing myself against the horse through the thin saddle blanket.

          As my orgasms approached, I found myself fantasizing about a tall handsome Prince Charming who had scooped me up and carried me off on the back of his glis~ening white horse. He would make passionate love to me while his horse bounded over hills and dales on the way to his castle. Somehow we were always naked in my fantasy, except for the gold crown which he wore on his head and that never seemed to bounce off. These were the thoughts that were going through my mind the first time I rode Gunner. Fred Conklin had an old saddle, but he said that Gunner was used to being ridden bareback. When he offered me a saddle blanket and suggested that I just throw it over Gunner’s back and climb o~, I couldn’t help smiling to myself.

          I hadn’t ridden since my teens, and it never occurred to me that I would experience those wonderful erotic sensations on horseback again now that I was an adult. But I did. I was wearing an old pair of faded Levi’s that I’d had for so long that they were perfectly molded to my body. When I threw my leg over Gunner’s back, the fabric pulled tight against my crotch, exciting me in a strange but familiar way and making me feel warm all over. I realized at once that it wasn’t the jeans that were turning me on so much as it was my recollection of those adolescent experiences.

          It took a moment for me to settle comfortably on the horse and I wiggled about, seeking the right position. As I did so, I could feel Gunner’s back caressing my sex through my jeans. I became moist almost at once.

          I took Fred’s advice, letting Gunner walk wherever he pleased. After a few minutes, I began moving my body in rhythm with his steps, remembering things about riding that I had thought I had forgotten. Soon it felt natural to just fiow along with the animal. I didn’t even have to think about what I was doing.

          As the forest swallowed us, I gazed around at the scenery, unconsciously enjoying the warm sensation in that secret spot between my legs. It was like having my adolescent experiences all over again. Only it was better now. When I was a teenager, every sexual sensation was new to me, and sometimes the newness distracted me from the pleasure. But now I was an adult. I knew all about sex. None of the sensations was new. There was no confusion, no uncertainty. There was nothing but pleasure. I was free to enjoy it in a way I never could have as an innocent young girl.

          I could feel my nipples hardening against the inside of my bra. I suppose the same thing must have happened when I was fourteen, but I can’t remember being aware of it then. I pressed the palms of my hands against my breasts, feeling them tingle at my own touch. The heat of sexual passion was rising quickly inside me.

          Gripping Gunner tightly with my legs, I began rocking my groin against his back. Each movement made me wetter. Every step that he took bounced me against him and made my tissues throb with pleasure. As I felt a climax overtaking me, I shut my eyes tightly, returning to my teenage world of discovery. When the first wave of ecstasy washed over me, I had a fleeting image of a naked Prince Charming in a gold crown penetrating me with his massive penis.

          After that, I took Gunner out almost every weekend, usually while Gordon was fixing or building something in the house. Gunner was an easy horse to ride, and I had a feeling of total confidence as he walked or loped through the forest. I enjoyed exploring the woods at the whim of the horse. Most of all, I enjoyed the secret orgasms that I had on Gunner’s back. Each time I came, I relived the fantasy of sex on horseback. It was still a handsome prince who made love to me while carrying me off to his castle. But now the prince had Gordon’s face.

          After my rides, I would tell Gordon about the beautiful places I had seen. But· I didn’t tell him about the orgasms. I guess I was a little embarrassed. After all, I wasn’t a kid anymore; I was a married woman. I was afraid that Gordon would wonder why I didn’t just ride. back and make love to him when I was feeling sexy. I was afraid that he’d get jealous of my riding.

          ·One day, Gunner took me to a spot I had never seen before. It was located deep in the forest, where the trees were so thick that the sun couldn’t shine through. Suddenly, Gunner stepped in.to a clearing where the light was dazzling. It felt like we had entered another world. I could feel the sun’s heat beating down against me in sharp contrast to the cool damp of the forest. There was a little pond, and the air was absolutely still except for the sound of unseen birds in the treetops. It was the most picturesque place on our property.

          I couldn’t wait for Gordon to see it. On the ride back, I paid careful attention to its location so that I could be sure of finding it again. When I described it to Gordon, he was intrigued. He agreed to visit the spot with me the following weekend. Some time during that week, I decided to try and live out my adolescent dream with Gordon. In preparation for the weekend, I went to a W estem-wear shop in the city and bought a long, flared skirt with fringe around the hem. It reminded me of the skirt I wore to ride in when I was young. I know it sounds funny, but I found myself becoming sexually aroused. just trying it on. I also bought a loose fitting white blouse with a scoop neckline and little rhinestones sewn onto it.

          I was nervous all week, obsessed with the idea of making my dream come true. I could think of nothing else. It seemed as though the weekend would never arrive. Saturday morning, as we drove to the woods, Gordon chatted gaily about all the work he was going to accomplish on the house. But I had other ideas. As soon as we arrived, I ran into the bedroom and changed into my cowgirl blouse and skirt. I wore no bra or panties.

          When Gordon saw me in my new outfit, he grinned. He said he loved the way the blouse and skirt looked on me. But of course, he had no idea of what it meant to me. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go riding. It’s a perfect day to see that pond I told you about, Gordon.”

          Before he had a chance to answer, I grabbed his hand and led him out to the corral. When Gunner saw us coming, he whinnied and walked toward the gate. He stood patiently ·while I fitted him with the -bridle and threw the blanket over him.

          Gordon put one foot on a fence rail and lifted himself athletically onto 9unner’s back. Then, reaching down like the prince of my dreams, he lifted me up to sit in front of him. The horse rode off confidently, accepting both of us with ease.

          I took the reins as Gordon placed his hands on my waist. Although Gunner was accustomed to select his own trails, he responded willingly to the signals that I gave him. I headed him toward the pond, leaning back against the strength of Gordon’s chest. “Hold me tighter,” I said. “It feels so good.”

          Gordon put his arms around me, caressing my belly with his fingertips. I could feel his hands stealing up to stroke the undercurves of my breasts. When he realized that I was not wearing a bra, he drew his breath in. “Naughty little cowgirl,” he said. “I wonder what you have in mind.”

          I giggled like a schoolgirl and shimmied from side to side, rubbing my backagainst him. “Isn’t this fun?” I whispered. “Just the two of us riding together around our property.”

          Gordon responded by kissing me lightly behind my ear. The touch of his lips filled my loins with desire. The day, the horse, the scenery, the ride, all came together so very perfectly. My excitement was building as I thought about the dream that I had nurtured since my teens and that I hoped was now about to be realized.

          The forest was becoming denser, the shade deepening as the sun fought vainly to penetrate the thick canopy of leaves above us. Then, as the darkness was about to become overwhelming, Gunner stepped into the clearing. For a moment we were blinded by the sudden reflection of the sun on the smooth surface of the pond.

          “Wow,” Gordon gasped. “Barrie, I think we’ve just entered Shangri-La.” I could feel his excitement. “I never imagined anything so beautiful,” he said. “And it all belongs to us.” He swung down from Gunner’s back and reached up for my hand. We walked to the edge of the pond and stood staring at it together in silence.

          “Someday we should have a picnic here,” I said. Then, taking his hand, I added, “But now let’s get back on Gunner. I want to show you something else.”

          Gordon climbed up onto the horse’s back and reached out to help me up. But, stepping on a tree stump, I straddled Gunner with my back to the horse’s neck and faced Gordon.

          My husband laughed. “Hey,” he said. “Thinking of joining the circus? You’re sitting backward.”

          “Not a circus,” I said. “But the show is just beginning.” With that, I crossed my arms in front of me and took the hem of my blouse in both hands. I gazed into Gordon’s eyes for a moment, and then stripped the blouse off over my head with a single swift movement.

          The cool air of the forest felt good against my bare breasts, and I felt my nipples harden- immediately. Gordon sighed before burying his face in the valley of my cleavage. I tangled my fingers in his hair and moved his head so that his lips were against one of my swollen nipples. I felt him suck hungrily at it, his tongue stroking gently at the sensitive flesh.

          I moaned as Gunner took a tentative step forward. The rippling muscles in his back caressed my bare vagina through the thin fabric of the saddle blanket. Gordon continued licking my breasts,
          unaware that I was naked under my skirt. As Gunner began walking out of the clearing, Gordon leaned back to watch my breasts bounce with each of the horse’s movements.

          It was exciting to see my husband stare at me that way. Languidly, I leaned back against the horse’s neck, gazing at the bulge that Gordon’s erection made in the front of his pants. He saw where I was looking and grinned. “Do ·you think we can do it on horseback?” he asked. I just smiled and lifted my skirt slowly, exposing my knees and thighs to his lustful gaze. As I raised the garment higher, I saw his penis twitch against the fabric of his trousers. Then, at once, I pulled the skirt all the way up, showing him my nakedness.

          Reaching forward, I undid his zipper and freed his huge erection from the confinement of his pants. There was a drop of moisture at its tip. “Yes, Gordon,” I said. “I think we can do it on horseback.” Gunner seemed to sense our need and stopped, wafting for his next command. I slithered toward my husband, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw my sex closer to his rigid penis. Lifting myself onto his lap, I moved my hips from side to side until my moist opening found the tip of his manhood. I felt him rock slowly, easing himself forward until he was barely inside me. A groan tore involuntarily from my throat.

          I closed my eyes and imagined that I was a teenage girl in the arms of a charming prince. The fantasy was complete. We were astride his noble charger in the woods that surrounded his castle. His strong hands were upon my shoulders, drawing me closer as his·probing member gently plunged my dewy depths. I wanted to swallow his hardness into my tunnel, but I remained passive, submitting to his strength and nobility.

          I had found the prince of my adolescent fantasies. He was about to take me, to make me his completely. As our bodies joined, I could almost see the golden crown upon his head. I never felt so fulfilled, so wanton, so complete. It was as though I had been waiting for this moment ever since that first explosion in my teen years. It was as though all of life had been nothing more than a background for my dream of love on the back of a horse.

          Inside me, there was a climax building of such intensity that at first it baflled and confused me. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. It was new. It was incredible. It was perfect. It was there. When it hit, I rocked forward furiously, aware that Gordon was exploding at precisely the same moment. All time stopped. The universe was ours alone. We filled it with our ecstasy, moaning and sobbing the sounds of our pleasure to a silent, secret forest. It was perfect. It was more than I ever could have imagined. A century later, we became aware again of our surroundings, even more beautiful now that they had been the backdrop for our shared love. Gunner was in motion, heading back to the house without any further instruction from me. He seemed to know that our visit to the forest was complete, that there was nothing more that we could take from nature that day.

          Since then, Gordon and I have made love in the forest many times. Occasionally, we bring a blanket to our little pond and make passionate love in the dazzling light of the clearing. We both feel that we have achieved erotic perfection. But I’ll never forget that wonderful day when my Prince Charming made love to me on his handsome steed. No matter what else I ever experience, I will always think of that day as the best sex I ever had.

          FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

          Be Sociable, Share!

            A dream cum true

            Saturday, May 11th, 2019

            Many people become grouchy if they don’t get enough sleep. Recent experiments indicate, however, that it might not ·be sleep deprivation that makes a person tense the next morning. The real root of the problem may lie in an insufficient opportunity to dream.

            In these experiments, two groups slept under controlled conditions every night for a period of several weeks. The members of one group were interrupted whenever their rapid eye movements, or REM, indicated that they were beginning to dream. Members of the other group were woken up as often, but only when they were not dreaming. As a result, the two groups got approximately the same amount of sleep, but one was permitted to dream and the other was not.

            Those allowed to dream experienced no significant change in attitude or behavior. In a relatively short time, however, those who had been prevented from dreaming began to show signs of tension and irritability. Some developed symptoms of severe mental illness and had to be eliminated from the program. These people recovered shortly after returning to their normal dream patterns.

            The obvious conclusion is that we need to dream. Dreams allow our unconscious minds to give expression to secrets that we hide even from ourselves. When these secrets are happy ones, our dreams are pleasant. When the secrets are not happy ones, we have nightmares.

            The dreams we have while awake are called daydreams or fantasies. Unlike those that come to us in our sleep, they are usually subject to our conscious control. This is why we do not have “daymares”.

            Daydreams are also important. They provide us with escape from a reality that, at times, can seem overpoweringly oppressive. They allow us to be what otherwise we might not ever be able to be. They allow us to do what, otherwise, we might not ever be able to do. In daydreams we can fulfill our most impossible wishes.

            The things we wish for and daydream about are not always impossible, though. Sometimes life surprises us with experiences that we imagined but never really believed could happen. When this occurs, we have the sense of a dream coming true. The people whose stories are told in this blog had sexual contacts that they had fantasized about without ever expecting to experience. The unanticipated fulfillment of their secret wishes led them to regard their dreams-come-true as the best sex they ever had.

            FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

            Be Sociable, Share!

              WEEKEND SLAVE

              Friday, May 10th, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

              Be Sociable, Share!

                WORTH WAITING FOR

                Monday, April 8th, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

                Be Sociable, Share!

                  SEEING AND BEING SEEN

                  Monday, March 25th, 2019

                  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!

                    BALLING ON THE COURT

                    Saturday, March 23rd, 2019

                    sexy tight white skirt

                    Alan is five-foot-ten with a lean athletic body. Without making obvious efforts to do so, he manage5 to maintain a youthful appearance that belies his fifty-one years. His silver hair is carefully styled to cover an expanding bald spot. His green eyes sparkle in a face that is tanned by frequent outdoor activities. Although he holds a Ph.D. in chemistry, Alan works as sales manager for a major pharmaceutical company. He says that the best sex he ever had happened on a tennis court with a woman half his age.

                    Barbara and I were married for more than twenty years. Our sex was okay, but never really great. I didn’t mind, because I always had a girl or two on the side. In retrospect, I realize that I was a terrible husband. At some level, my wife always knew I was fooling around with other women, but she closed her eyes to it. Sex was never that important to her, anyway. She was more interested in our affluent lifestyle.

                    Everything changed when I got involved with Diane. She’s not much more than half my age, but she’s absolutely the most exciting creature I ever met. When I started going out with her, it was just for sex, as with all the women I dated. Before I knew it, I was head over heels in love with her, or maybe just obsessed with her. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. Once I started seeing her, I didn’t want any other women. That’s what broke up my marriage. As long as my affairs were casual, Barbara never mentioned them. When she found out about Diane, though, she refused to tolerate it. I’m sure Diane’s age was a problem for Barbara, but what bothered her most was the fact that I wasn’t going out with anyone else. That made my relationship with Diane serious. That’s when Barbara filed for divorce. Except for a few financial problems, I didn’t mind the divorce at all. It gave me more time for Diane.

                    I think what makes Diane so sexy is that she’s completely uninhibited. When I’m out with her, I never know where or when we’re going to end up doing it. She doesn’t plan ·it. She just has such a spontaneous nature that she is willing to take advantage of whatever situation arises. I love the adventures that we have together. We’ve had sex at the most unusual times and places you can imagine. I guess the best time of all was one night on the tennis court. Actually, tennis has been a kind of background for our entire relationship. The first time I saw her was at the tennis club. I go there a couple of times a week with some guys from work. We’ve been playing doubles together for years. I like tennis because it helps me stay fit, but also because I’m a bit of a dirty old man.

                    I love watching the women in their short skirts, especially when they bend over to pick up the balls. Women’s underwear has always had an especially arousing effect on me. I think that’s probably true of most men my age. As we were growing up, there wasn’t any Playboy or Penthouse magazine with pictures of naked women. The best we could do was the Sunday supplement with its ads for bras and panties. I remember looking at those models posed primly in their cotton briefs and jerking off till my elbows were sore. To this day, I get stirred up by the slightest glimpse of a woman’s undies. I realize, of course, that the briefs women wear under their tennis skirts aren’t really underwear at all. They’re just like running shorts, only briefer. In fact, they wear panties underneath them. Nevertheless, when a woman bends over and her skirt rises up to reveal those little tennis bloomers, I can’t help getting aroused. Sometimes I am so distracted that I’m lucky I don’t get hit in the eye with a ball. My tennis buddies all kid me about it, but that doesn’t stop me.

                    One afternoon, we were playing when Diane caught my eye. She was serving the ball on the next court, poised on her toes with her arms held high, causing the hem of her skirt to rise dangerously. Only a blind man would have failed to notice her. She was about five-foot-three and wore her dark brown hair long and fl.owing. She had a tight little body, with pointy tits and the sweetest ass I ever saw. Her muscular legs were perfectly proportioned, all shapely curves even in her flat bottomed tennis shoes.

                    Her outfit was the standard white, but her skirt was shorter than usual. She must have had it taken up deliberately. I found myself staring openly, waiting for her to bend down so I could steal a peek at what she had on underneath. When it happened, my mouth dropped open. She wasn’t wearing regulation tennis briefs. She had panties on, skimpy white lace panties. They were cut so high that they barely covered her in front and left most of her ass cheeks exposed. When my friends saw what I was looking at, our game came to a temporary halt. For once, they joined me in staring rather than ribbing me about it. Silently, we watched her play. When she bent over, one of the other guys groaned. She must have heard him but acted as if she didn’t. It was obvious that she enjoyed putting on a show.

                    After that, we hit the ball around a bit longer, but none of us was interested in keeping score. When she left the court, there didn’t seem to be much point in our staying, so our game ended early. The other guys wanted to stand around and talk about her and her sexy costume, but I had more important things to do. I knew I had to meet her. I showered and dressed in record time so that I could be waiting for her when she came out of the women’s locker room. As soon as she did, I went into action. Falling into step beside her, I said, “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever met before, and I’d like to introduce myself.”

                    She smiled. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to get around to me,” she said matter-of-factly. “Sure I’ll have a drink with you.” “I don’t remember asking,” I said, liking her at once. “My memory must be slipping.” “Yes,” she said, her blue eyes flashing. “I have that effect on lots of men.” We rode in my car to a cocktail lounge near the tennis club and spent a couple of hours there getting to know each other. Diane was twenty-seven and an art dealer with a small but expensive uptown gallery. Right up front I told her I was married, but she just laughed. She said that made me safe and she liked that. We arranged to have dinner together the next night.

                    When I arrived at her apartment to pick her up, she was dressed and ready, but she invited me in for a drink. As she poured, I looked around her living room. Everything· was expensive. The paintings on the walls all had erotic themes. In one of them, a nude woman was looking in a mirror while caressing her own breasts. Her pose and the expression she was wearing captured my attention. I found myself becoming mildly aroused as I studied it.

                    “Do you like that one?” Diane asked, handing me a glass. “Yes,” I said. “It’s very erotic.” “I agree,” she answered softly. “It’s one of my favorites. Every time I look at it, I get turned on.”

                    “I’m glad to hear you say that,” I admitted. “Because it has that effect on me, too. I wasn’t sure that was a legitimate response to art.” “Of course it’s legitimate,” she answered. “Did that painting give you an erection?” I ·was a little startled by her directness but not the least displeased. “Yes, I guess it did,” I confessed. “Let me see,” she .said, stepping in front of me and patting the crotch of my pants with the palm of her hand. My penis twitched against her. Swiftly, she pulled down.my zipper and extracted my swelling organ. I was taken completely by surprise.

                    She clawed at me, pulling off my clothes and filling her hands with my sexual hardware. Within seconds, she was on her back on the floor with her skirt up and her legs apart, tugging me down on top of her. Without any foreplay, I was in her. I thrust only eight or nine times before I started to come. Her cries began just as mine were subsiding. Afterward, as we rearranged our clothing, I said, “Wow, that was a nice surprise. Most women prefer to do it after dinner.” “Maybe we’ll do it after dinner, too,” she answered. “That depends on how we feel then. But I felt like doing it now.” “Do you always do it whenever you feel like it?” I ask~d. ”I believe in taking advantage of the moment,” she replied. “Carpe diem! Seize the day.”

                    In the months that have followed, I found out that she actually lives that philosophy. We have sex at the drop of a hat, any time and any place that the mood strikes her. When we are in bed in her apartment, it might go on for hours. But · when we grab a surprise quickie in some unanticipated situation, the two of us can come and be dressed again within seconds. She never ceases to astound me. That’s probably what makes her so attractive to me. At my age, everything had started to take on the aspect of a routine. Diane has changed all that. With her, nothing is predictable. Sometimes she’ll act in a way which is totally conventional, and a moment later she’ll do something totally unexpected.

                    I’d say she’s like a child, except that when it comes to making love, she’s all woman. The result is that since I met Diane, I just don’t have a need for other wo me anymore. I think the best sex we ever had was on the tennis court. We were both working late and had. agreed to meet at the tennis club at nine for a quick game. The club keeps the lights on until ten, so that would give us an hour to play. Lots of other people had the same idea, because when we started, every court was in use. After warming up for a few minutes, we volleyed for the serve. Every now and then I deliberately hit the ball into the fence so that she’d have to bend down to pick it up. By now I knew that Diane always wore lacy panties when playing tennis. That gave the game a whole new dimension for me. Instead of putting my imagination to work on those white nylon bloomers that women usually wear on the court, I got to watch Diane show me her lingerie.

                    Fifteen minutes into the game, I was so turned on that I thought I might trip over my hard-on while chasing the balls. Each time Diane stood up after bending over, she looked at me and said something like, “Did you like that?” Once she even kicked the ball against the net so that when she picked it up I could have a close-up view· of her scantily covered bottom. I was just about to serve the ball when everything went dark. Frustrated grumbles could be heard from the other courts, where players were complaining about the interruption of their games. There wasn’t a light to be seen, not even in the clubhouse. A voice shouted, “Power failure, folks. Just stay where you are. We’ll have the lights on again in a few moments.”

                    I walked toward the net, cautious until my eyes slowly became accustomed to the dark. When they did, I saw Diane facing me from her side of the net and wearing an impish grin. She was holding her skirt up above her waist. Her panties lay on the court surface next to her. She had removed them in the dark and was showing me her nakedness. I knew it was an invitation. I vaulted the net and put my arms around her. Diane fumbled with the waistband of my shorts, stripping them from me and casting them, with my underwear, into a pile beside her panties. Lifting her skirt again, she began rubbing the hair of her pubis against my swollen erection. “Hey,” I said. “The lights can go on again at any minute. And we’re not the only people here.” Diane lifted herself up to wrap her legs around my waist. “Then we’d better be quick,” she murmured, lowering herself to take me inside her.

                    When she began a rhythmic rolling motion with her pelvis, I stopped worrying about the lights and let my dick do the thinking. Her soft wetness enveloped me completely. At that moment, it was all that mattered. I cupped her naked buttocks in my hands to move her up and down the length of my erection. At first, the spontaneity of our union excited me the way it usually does when Diane’s lack of inhibition takes me by surprise. As I drove in and out of her, though, I realized that there was something extra special about this time. If the lights went on, we would be on display. The possibility inflamed us both.

                    She was whispering ferocious obscenities in my ear, whipping me up to a sexual frenzy. I thrust hard and deep against her, plunging into the whirlpool of her sex. We were racing to a swift climax, caught up in the moment and not caring about the time. “Come in me,” she commanded. “Come in me now!” Her words sent me spinning into space, and I began spewing immediately. When I started pumping, her orgasm struck. Her thighs pressed tight against me, her contractions matching mine. Together we spiraled, seized violently by a tornado of passion. Within seconds, we reached its summit and began the floating descent that returned us to the world.

                    As our mutual climax wound down, Diane’s legs released their grip on my hips. We stood in fevered embrace, her arms still around my neck and my hands still clutching her ass. Our tongues were clashing in afterplay kisses when the lights suddenly went on. I was aware of it at once, even though my eyes were closed. Realizing that I was bare assed, I tried to break the clinch, but Diane held on to me a moment longer. Sure that all the other tennis players were looking at us, I kept my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to face them. When Diane’s arms relaxed, loosening their grasp, I stepped back against the net. I glanced quickly around, but everyone else on the courts seemed to be studiously looking elsewhere. Trying to use Diane as a shield, I hurried into my togs, thrusting her discarded panties into my pocket.

                    I couldn’t wait to get off the court and away from the embarrassing situation. Once we were in the car, though, we laughed about it. I recalled the excitement much more than the embarrassment. Diane said she was proud of me, that I had more guts than a kid of twenty. Nobody at the tennis club ever mentioned the incident, so I’ll never know for sure whether anybody saw us or not. To tell you the truth, I don’t really care. Life is for living, and it doesn’t pay to worry about what other people think. To hell with them. Leisurely lovemaking, the kind that goes on all night and builds slowly to a poetic climax, is wonderful. But great experiences don’t all have to be like that. They can take place in a fleeting instant .. Even though it happened in a flash, Diane’s spontaneity made that minute on the tennis court the best sex I ever had.

                    I’m still seeing Diane. We might even get married someday. If we feel like it, that . is, and if the moment’s right. In the meantime, I’ve adopted her philosophy: Carpe diem!

                    FREE LIVE CHAT HERE!

                    Be Sociable, Share!