Thought Riot

Alicia was rolling up cinnamon buns when the couple came in. It was a quiet Friday night, and she usually locked up at nine, but in between icing cupcakes and mixing dough for the rolls, she had forgotten. She smiled at her late-night customers and turned to wash her hands.
It may be quiet tonight, she thought, but tomorrow morning the neighborhood would be crowded with shoppers. Alicia’s little bakery would be humming, so she wanted to have plenty of hot buns to sell. As she dried her hands, she watched the man push in the girl’s chair and sit down next to her.
The girl looked like a student from the university, in her baggy jeans and tight red sweater, with her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She was cute, maybe too cute to be with the man. He was at least several years older, but only a little taller than her, with merely average looks. He was wearing a purple dress shirt, untucked, and black corduroy slacks. Alicia guessed that he was a grad student, maybe taking advantage of the girl’s naivety. She was certainly staring at him intently, her palms flat on her thighs, and didn’t turn when Alicia approached the table.
“I’ll have one slice of chocolate cake,” he said in a calm, smooth voice.
“And for you?” Alicia smiled at the girl, but found that she was still staring at him.
“She’ll have some of mine,” he said. “She won’t need a fork.”
“I’ll bring that right out,” Alicia said out of habit. She puzzled at his manners as she walked back behind the counter. She took out her famous chocolate cake and cut a thick slice. At the culinary institute, Alicia’s cake recipe had won a medal in a televised contest. After two years as the pastry chef at a four-star restaurant, Alicia had used that flash of publicity and a nice pants suit to borrow enough money to start her bakery. It was three years later, and customers were still coming in who had heard or read about her chocolate cake. And she could afford two employees. Well, two part-time employees. Not bad for a woman staring at 29, she told herself.
The man turned to watch Alicia return with the cake. His eyes moved over Alicia’s body without hesitation, and he smiled as she set the plate and fork on the table. The girl didn’t take her eyes off the man. “Thank you,” he said, picking up the fork. Alicia was startled by his brazen stare, and merely nodded and went back to her cinnamon buns. A voice in her head told her to be upset, that a customer was undressing her with his eyes. Yet there was something about the smooth, fearless way he did it, and the confident tone of his voice, that left her unbalanced. She took a deep breath and decided to focus on finishing the buns. But as her hands fell into the familiar rhythm of rolling dough, her attention drifted back to the couple.
He took the first bite himself. He took his time, clearly appreciating the smell of the chocolate cake, and savoring the taste in his mouth. Alicia always liked customers who ate her desserts slowly. She was a baker because she loved all the smells and textures and tastes of dessert, and she was proud of her recipes, ingredients, and preparation.
He took the first bite himself, but then he started feeding her. He would cut a piece of the rich, dark cake and offer it to her. Each time, she would carefully open her soft red lips and accept the bite with a grateful expression, as if being given an extraordinary gift. She would chew carefully, letting her eyes half-close with pleasure. She never stopped looking at him. To Alicia, it seemed like she was enjoying his attention almost as much as the cake. For a long moment, Alicia found herself wishing she could be the girl. She imagined herself as the focus of his attention, being fed one bite at a time.
He paused to take some bites himself. Together, Alicia and the girl sighed quietly. But then he set down the fork and started feeding her with his hand. She was leaning forward, her hands still flat on her thighs, but palms up now. With each bite, she would suck the cake and frosting off his fingers, and look at him with devotion. Once, Alicia thought he said, “Good girl.”
And then the cake was gone. The man stood up and left more than enough money on the table. He didn’t look directly at Alicia, but she realized that she’d stopped rolling cinnamon buns, stopped moving altogether, and she couldn’t remember when. A small smile played in the corner of his mouth. Then he beckoned for the girl to follow him, and he left without a word. The girl stood up quickly and hurried after him. As they walked by the windows, Alicia could see that the girl had caught up, but for some reason remained a step behind him.
…
As Alicia finished the buns and put them in the walk-in, she kept thinking about the couple. She locked up, but she didn’t want to wait for the bus. She decided to walk the dozen or so blocks back to the apartment. She hoped the exercise would make her tired, but she couldn’t stop thinking about them: how the man had looked at Alicia, the sound of his voice, and how elated the girl had obviously felt while being fed. Alicia wondered if they were having really good sex right now. She wondered what sex with him would be like.
Alicia had moved in with her boyfriend about a month ago. They reached that point in a relationship where you move in or split up, so she moved in. Besides, his apartment was close to the bakery, so that was convenient. Her boyfriend was moderately attractive and safe, and maybe they were falling in love. At least, that’s what Alicia hoped was happening, or would happen, now that they lived together. But she hadn’t really unpacked yet: most of her boxes were still stacked in the bedroom. He was away on a business trip for a few days. Before he left, he dropped some hints about proposing to her. She found herself worrying about that.
Alicia wouldn’t describe herself as a passionate person. But she loved baking desserts, and she loved how her desserts made people feel when they ate them. When she tried a new recipe, Alicia would bring him a cookie or a slice of cake or an eclair, and ask his opinion. He was on a low-carb diet, so he’d take one bite and say something nice and go back to what he was doing. He sort of approached sex the same way. He preferred it in the dark, without talking, and always the same, obvious position. He even seemed uncomfortable being naked, or with her being naked. Alicia had lived by herself for a couple years before moving in. On her mornings off, she liked to lounge naked in bed, surfing on her laptop and eating leftover cinnamon buns. After her first week in the apartment, he’d bought her a large cotton bathrobe.
She thought about that as she took off her work clothes. She left them in a pile by the closet, under the hook where the bathrobe hung. Her brain was still buzzing. So Alicia grabbed her laptop and sprawled on the bed in her underwear. She checked her email and a few friends’ blogs. Another graduate from the culinary institute was raving about a new cocoa supplier, and she made a note to call for some samples. But she was really building up the courage to Google something.
“Voyeur” …she knew the word, of course. But after watching the man feed the girl like that, she wondered if she was, well, into that. The first websites were porn, and it took a few minutes to find what she wanted. “Are you a voyeur?” yielded some better hits, and she started reading. After a few sites, Alicia realized she was searching for wrong thing. It wasn’t that she enjoyed watching the girl: she wanted to be the girl.
“Are you an exhibitionist?” Some of the sites were very graphic in their descriptions. Exhibitionists described their most wild or sensual experiences, like flashing their breasts, bending over without panties, or even touching themselves. Alicia realized she was starting to get turned on. She was imagining herself in some of the situations, and was surprised by how it excited her. But the descriptions still didn’t match the couple in the bakery. One website listed a series of related topics, and Alicia found another word she knew, but had never really thought about.
“Are you a submissive?” She read a couple sites, and knew she was on the right path. On one website, submissives described their own sensual experiences. One even talked about being fed by her Master. Alicia found herself getting more aroused, acutely aware of that she was almost naked. She started fantasizing about someone seeing her like this. “Master,” she read. Was the man a Master? Is that what she had experienced? Alicia kept reading and clicking and reading. She found descriptions and pictures of women following men, one step behind. Women looking up eagerly at men. Women kneeling. Women wearing collars. Women naked in front of a group of men. Women touching themselves in front of men.
Alicia gasped, suddenly aware of hard her nipples were, how wet her panties had become. She imagined how she would feel, if she was kneeling naked in front of the man from the bakery. She imagined touching herself for him, begging for… begging for… Something.
Alicia closed the laptop and rolled over. She tried to calm down. But she didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

A New York City Apartment
Marla D. Deering, born Marla Darling Dexter, was bored. She slumped in the luxuriously over-stuffed chair and frowned at her loneliness. Her life had gone from an exciting and liberating string of clubs and one night stands to endless days at home and one familiar “stand” per week. Her old friends never called and she longed for their jibing and teasing about her previous lifestyle. She’d married one of those very special ones she’d met, and didn’t regret a single thing about her man, but she was seriously unfulfilled with just him. Perhaps there was no man who could ever keep her happy. And now that she was married, it seemed her entire previous life, friends and family alike, were gone. Her only friend now, in the long daytime hours and the several nights alone each week, was a box, filled with imitating, stimulating, only somewhat exhilarating tools to help her stay afloat in her dismal sea of gloom. Life suddenly sucked.
She was confused too, on top of the loneliness. How could this be? Mark had been such a great lover before their marriage. He had never failed to satisfy her when they made love, and he’d never been far from her side all during their short courtship in her apartment. She’d asked him to move in and he’d done so, under the agreement that anything longer term would be taking place in his apartment, not hers. His was bigger, on the upper east side, and closer to his job in New York. She was to quit her job on Long Island, for he made a lot of money in the city and this would enable them to be together before and after work more quickly, and even during lunch. What they both failed to recognize was that his business, advertising, kept him late most nights he was in town, and required he visit his two biggest clients each week. One was in California, and the other in Texas. Mark was good about coordinating them both to occur on the same trip, a regular run to California on Tuesday mornings, back to Houston on Wednesday morning, and then back to New York on Thursday morning. He invariably had too much to do as a result of being away for two and a half days so he usually went right to the office from Laguardia and came home to the apartment after eight again that night. The result was that they saw, it seemed to Marla, even less of each other than before. How could that be, she asked herself for the ten thousandth time.
Did he not care for her anymore? Was he seeing someone else? Had she suddenly become less than attractive? Had she done something wrong? Marla examined the circumstances befalling her again and again, each lonely moment without him, and always came to the same conclusion. She felt he had lost his urge to go out of his way for her, now that he could rely on her being home when he got there. He had taken her for granted. It was his fault. It had to be. She hadn’t changed a bit, damnit. This could not be laid off on her. Her body was still as hot, as voluptuous, as firm as it was a year ago. She still wore all the slinky and revealing underwear, all the clinging lingerie, the perfume she had always worn. She still prepared herself for his every return to their home, just as she had before they were married. And now, she didn’t even go out with anyone else of course. She saved her every sensuous nerve ending just for Mark.
She was his slave, for sex or anything else. And yet, she sat for the umpteenth time, alone, wanting, beginning to nervously squirm once again at thoughts of her husband in bed, and the many more men she wished she still had to fulfill her life. This could not go on.
Flight 24, New York to Los Angeles
Mark Deering boarded the Tuesday morning flight to Los Angeles International Airport. He found his first class seat in the First Class section and easily lifted his small suitcase to the overhead bin. Despite his obvious lack of need for help, he felt the impression of what could only be a pair of large breasts into his back.
“Can I help you?” Came the voice, soft and somewhat low in pitch.
Mark turned inside the woman’s arms, outstretched as if to reach up to the bag. When he faced her, she let her arms linger just a little longer than necessary, before smiling devilishly and withdrawing. She dropped her arms, and her forehead as if shy and suddenly embarrassed.
“Maybe later,” Mark said, smiling back and winking before he bent to fold himself into his seat.
The flight attendant stepped up to the side of his aisle seat, reached above him, and slowly closed the bin door. The view this gave the man in 2A was just what she had wanted to give.
Mark was suddenly flipped on like a switch. Her thighs were just beside his face, her short skirt hiked way up to reveal the top of her hose, and what had to be the last piece of her thighs before they joined. Had he dropped just slightly in his seat, he would be able to catch a glimpse. He did.
Elizabeth Langer looked down for a second while she falsely made as if to push again on a too big bag to cram it into the confined space of the overhead bin. She knew already what she would see, and was delighted to be right once again. The Tuesday regular was hunched down slightly in his seat, his face inches from her mound, and suddenly dropping a couple inches further to get a good look. She took a deep breath as she looked back up at the bin and closed its door. One last trick she used in this little act was to fake a sudden release of the bin as if she’d lost her balance and let her torso move forward, pushing her mound right into the man’s face. She let her left hand come down on the seat back to the passenger’s left, and her right on the seat beside him too. This resulted in her ample breasts, made to appear even larger as they hung down in their sheer bra, suddenly hanging directly in front of Mark’s face. She accompanied the “fall” with a muffled, “Oh!”
Mark couldn’t resist her breasts anymore than he could resist her thighs and what lurked between them. He leaned his head forward while raising both hands in a “natural” effort to “support” her in her fall. They were both pleased with the results: Mark got his “feels” and Beth felt the man’s hands on her stiff nippled breasts. It was all of course, a well orchestrated personal greeting played out many times before. She couldn’t wait.
Back in the New York City Apartment
Marla rose from her heavily cushioned nest and walked slowly to the bedroom. They lived in an apartment with a terrace overlooking 84th street, facing south, and she walked by the living room windows without so much as thinking about their curtains being open. She was already in her workout clothes, ready to go to the gym, but the sensations raging in her body were too much to resist. She had to take care of things that needed taking care of, now.
Pulling her loose fitting top over her head as she entered the bedroom, she noticed now that the curtains were open here too. She had left them that way as she had readied to leave only minutes ago. The light was the last ingredient to waking up in the morning. It validated the day and took great advantage of their south facing apartment’s windows.
She stopped suddenly however, realizing she had just bared her sports bra to all who might look from the building across 84th street. Thoughts began racing through her mind, thoughts new to her, provocative thoughts, dangerous thoughts as well. Why not leave the curtains open?
She stood there for several minutes considering what she was going to do. She began rationalizing the idea by saying that there were probably no men home at this time of day. Only women would see her, if anyone at all. That didn’t bother her. She had been in far too many gyms and locker rooms and dressed and undressed completely in the full view of other women to care at all. The only thing that had ever bothered her in the least, and this not very much, was how the women all seemed to gawk at her lovely body and long waving red hair.
Marla made her decision and turned abruptly on her heel and faced the bathroom. She waited there for a moment and then slipped a thumb under her gym shorts on either hip, pushing them down slowly to the floor. She could have let them fall once they had cleared the widest portion of her hips, but she wanted to feel sexy, to feel vulnerable, to perform for the curtainless windows. Her movement brought her head down below her hips as she pushed the shorts all the way to the floor.
She had not showered yet this morning and could smell herself. Her pussy was already “sweating” and had made its presence known to her in the form of her scent. It intoxicated her embarrassingly, taunting her to touch herself. But she wanted to extend her pleasure. There was no hurry.
Marla could have simply lifted her feet from the discarded garment too, but that longing feeling for something stirring was grasping her more and more tightly the more she complied with its wishes. She bent a knee and lifted one ankle from her shorts, placing it back down on top of them. A similar procedure took place with the other foot and the shorts were free of her body.
She rose to a standing position. As if to check to see if anyone was looking, she glanced over her shoulder at the windows. There were no eyes she could see. There were no naked men standing in a window, masturbating to her show. There were not even any women watching, no one at all. She was still alone, still unsatisfied, still very lonely. The windows looked back however, all the while keeping hope alive that someone might just see her from beyond, and that much alone gave her inspiration to continue.
Marla flipped her hair back over her head and fluffed and smoothed it down with her hands. She couldn’t help but look down at her breasts. They were severely restrained in her sports bra and needed some care, some massaging, some attention. The decision was made, the next act defined. She was going through with this little episode of exhibitionism and without regard to repercussions. If anything happened, anyone said anything, she could easily talk her way out of any contentions that she was a nymphomaniac or otherwise deviant person. This was truly the first time she had ever done this. There was no way anyone could point to repeated behavior and have her thrown out of the building. And besides, there was no one looking. She had seen that for herself. She would try this once and see just what affect it had on her.
Marla looked down at her feet and kicked her shorts up to the bed with a flare. They landed on the edge but held there. In the process, she had turned herself about ninety degrees toward the bed. She could look to her right now to see out the window, but she refused to interrupt her actions. First one hand and then the other went behind her and up to the clasp on her sports bra. She preferred this style to the one piece stretch over’s. Her fingers fumbled with the familiar mechanism, a bit more than normal, reminding her she was doing something quite different and maybe bolder than ever before.
Finally, the hooks were free and the bra unlatched. Though she was tempted again to look out the window, she refrained and slowly slipped the straps over her shoulders while looking forward at the head of the bed. Letting the bra fall down her arms, she caught it just before it fell completely free and flicked it over to join her shorts on the bed. The blatant act of exposure excited her. She felt the coolness of the air on her bare breasts and it tickled her nipples to an even harder state.
Not knowing what to do next, she decided to let her arms down to her sides. This felt good, liberating, even daring, but unfulfilling. She slid them slowly in front of her thighs and around further to the insides. Drawing them slowly upward, she allowed them to caress her swelling vulva briefly on their way up to her stomach. Marla let them roam on her soft skin for a moment or two before resuming their upward travel toward her breasts.
She first cupped her breasts, held them outward toward the bed, as if to offer them to an imaginary lover in the sheets before her. Certainly if there was anyone looking on, they would be thinking surely there must be someone there, though they would be hard pressed to find him.
Marla then felt compelled to suck her own nipples. She lifted her right breast and forced it upward almost to the point of discomfort before her lips and tongue could reach the turgid nipple. She devoured it. She only now realized how horny this display of herself to the world was making her. When her lips surrounded her nipple, the suction seemed to come from somewhere else it was so fast, hard and furious. She felt the release all the way down to her melting pussy. She could now recognize that the juices had all this time been pent up inside her, pushing at her thong assisted and swollen pussy lips, waiting for the right moment to release and flood down her legs. That moment was now and all possibility of stopping her bedroom window show was gone.
At Thirty-Five Thousand Feet
The flight to Los Angeles was uneventful except of course for the little games Elizabeth seemed compelled to play. She was a great lay on his trips to California, and though he soon tired of the repetitive nature of their foreplay on the plane, this being her regular route, the sex was worth it.
They had met on this very flight just three months ago when she spilled coffee on his lap. She already had eyes on him, having seen him on each Tuesday of her first three weeks on the new schedule. She had been determined to meet him somehow despite his apparent disinterest. Each time he’d boarded the flight he’d had coffee and a Danish, only to melt into his work for the rest of the flight. He had never approached her and she refused to put much stock in the wedding ring he wore on his left hand.
He had impressed her immensely with his black slick hair, always perfect in its display, and his tall figure. He obviously worked out and she couldn’t help but wonder what the man was like in bed, probably an animal. She fantasized that she would somehow be one with him, know him carnally. On that fateful morning three months ago, she had been thrown into that chance meeting when she truly did spill his coffee. She had been walking toward him with the preflight beverage, examining his entire body yet again that morning. The plane was taxiing toward the runway but the Captain had not yet given the “Prepare for takeoff,” warning. She would continue with her service until that came.
When she leaned down and over his body to put the coffee in the receptacle on the arm rest between his and the empty seat beside him, the Captain had seen fit to first hit the brakes, which she was able to sustain, but then let them go just as quickly, which she was not prepared for. The result was she pushed herself, more than was thrown, back into the chest of the object of her desires, and the hot coffee poured directly onto his cock and balls. His suit was soaked, but his inhale at the pain of the hot liquid making its contact with his privates nearly made him scream.
All Beth could do was freeze. She remained over his body, one hand holding her up by bracing on his shoulder, and the other hand holding the empty cup, upside down, over his lap. His eyes squinted, then opened, and looked down at the damage. The coffee’s temperature was not enough to burn, only to inflict that instant pain that lingered only as long as it cooled to body temperature. He found himself looking into her eyes for the first time. “You’re sure it’s good to the last drop are you?” He looked down at his lap again.
Beth looked down too and realized she was holding the empty cup in an upturned position, directly over his loins. As if to emphasize the point, one last drip fell from the cup to his pants and disappeared quickly into the existing stain. She bolted upright. “I am so sorry! Oh my God! This never happened before! I am so…”
“Flight attendants, take your seats please for takeoff,” The intercom sounded.
Beth looked up at the cockpit door, then back at her injured passenger and was for the first time on the job, confused as to what to do next. Fortunately, the man saw her confusion and said graciously, “It’s all right. Go do your thing. I’ll be safe here till I can get up.” He smiled at her and couldn’t help but look at her intently for the first time.
She was blond with long hair, obviously bleached or colored or whatever women do to become more gorgeous than they need to be. She was built like the Grand Tetons, her breasts standing out like they were stone cold and hard. Her waist was trim though not too small and her ass was just, well, abundant. He could get lost in that flesh for days, he thought.
Right now however, he had a different problem and that was trying to salvage his suit for the meetings he had as soon as he arrived in LA. The plane took off and soon reached cruising altitude. The entire time this took, the flight attendant kept poking her head up to see if he was ok and if there was anything she could do for him. He simply smiled each time and she kept hoping. This was either going to be a black mark on her record, a non-event she would soon write off to “Things that could have been,” or the opportunity she’d been looking for.
Once the seat belt sign had been extinguished, Beth was up and immediately at his side. “We have to get those stains out quickly. You probably don’t have another suit, do you?”
Mark liked to travel on these regular trips as light as possible. He had extra shirts and ties and all the underwear he needed, but the suit was a loner. There was no other, and he didn’t relish having to buy something casual and embarrass himself in front of his client. Each time he’d spilled coffee in the past, he’d done what mothers all over the world teach their sons, club soda and towel it dry. He looked up at the red faced flight attendant and asked, “Do you have any Club Soda?”
She said, “Of course! But how will you…?”
He cut her off. “I’m not. You are. Come on, I’ll show you.” His last three words had turned her inside out. At first she’d thought he was about to berate her, and suddenly he was acting and winking like they were co-conspirators. She followed him to the First Class lavatory.
“I’m gonna take these off, and pass them to you. You can try the club soda, blot them dry as you can, and pass them back to me. Surely they’ll dry before we get to California.” He smiled as he backed into the small lavatory and pushed the bi-fold door closed on her. He removed his shoes and then pants, leaving the wallet and money inside. He would see if that might tell him something later. Then he pulled the doors open and handed his pants to the flight attendant.
She couldn’t help but look down at his groin. The doors had been pulled completely open, not trying to hide anything. She could instantly see his semi-bikini under pants, black, also wet with the coffee. She flinched at the thought of the hot brew hurting that seemingly huge and precious lump under the material.
Mark saw her squint and smiled at her. “Don’t worry. No permanent damage.”
She felt some relief and asked, holding the door open, unable to take her eyes of his sexual parts, “Do you want me to, ah, do those, ah….”
He smiled at her stumbling and said, “Naw. I’ll just take ‘em off.” He pushed the door shut again and waited a full fifteen minutes before she knocked. Now he was toying with her.
“Uh, Mr. Deering?” The voice asked hesitantly.
Hmmmm, he thought. She might have had his name on the manifest. No proof yet.
“Yes. Are they ready?” He asked politely.
At first, she was going to hand him the pants. But now she realized she had a hunk of a man in her lavatory, with no pants on, and her mind was spinning with fantasies. “Yes, I do have them. They are still wet though….”

look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
- Romeo: Act 3, Scene 5
* * *
The water slid from the tap, down between her toes and across her instep, striving against gravity to run its way up her outstretched leg, raising gooseflesh as it lapped at her knee. The tub filled with oiled water as the room filled with scented steam, and tiny, candlelit rills of condensation coursed the wine glass she had set close enough to reach without opening an eye. The bathroom door was locked, her son away, the house empty save the dog downstairs, no doubt alert and anxious to announce any intruder. A wet snow streaked past the high-set windows. She was warm and safe and, finally, alone.
She bent up to turn the faucet off, reached out to turn the handle, and felt it just as her weight shifted from ass to thigh, that familiar little tingle skipping from nipple to groin which told her that sexual release had again become a necessity. She leaned back and sank neck-deep into the slick water, thinking of how much she had missed ready access to sex since the divorce, sliding both hands up her torso, cupping her breasts, and then deciding quickly to think of anything but the divorce, as her thumbs made lazy circles around each nipple.
She brought her heels together and her knees apart, trying to consciously flex every muscle from toe to ass in slow succession. Her folds opened to the water as one hand wandered down her centerline, from nape, between breasts and over navel, into her sparse, auburn bush, pushing down firmly as it slid over mons, sprouting two careful fingertips as it skirted her clit and parted her lips. She felt the beading wetness on her forehead as the barely too-hot water stung her openings exquisitely, and as she dipped a fingertip into her own slick wetness she knew she would think of him. Yes, she thought, he would be enough.
She had met him at work, had pursued him there in a manner, she feared, that was all too obvious, had asked him to dinner and been surprised when he had accepted. He was just too eerily right for her: the right physique (solid, not too handsome), the right job (stable, low-risk, well-paid), the right attitude (respectful, honest, attentive), even the right little smile marks around his eyes. She recalled their first real embrace and how a seeming split-second later they were naked and kissing and he held her tightly as they fell through time and space, fell down through jobs and houses and families, through insecurity and regret and ennui. She was in love long before they hit the enormous carnal cushion at the bottom.
He said goodbye, four weeks after the fall, with a note and a single white rose, the color of sadness. The note was the standard chicken-shit article replete with vague references to the standard male chicken-shit insecurities, but the rose was a nice touch. He had an indisputably nice touch.
The last time he had touched her had been both the worst and the best. She had lost control in so many ways, but it had become her favorite fantasy nonetheless.
She pushes her supermarket cart around the aisle-end and there he is, a month since their breakup, still far too right, fondling the melons. He looks up and
she remarks on his fondling and he laughs and says something about abstinence but she is no longer listening. He moves to hug her and trips up over the wheel of his cart, careening into her with much more force than either had anticipated. God, he smells so good, she thinks. He whispers something naughty about cucumbers into her ear. Her knees weaken and she hugs back too firmly, her heart races and she knows now that it has taken this man about fifteen seconds to make her wet and yielding, as it always had.
She reaches out behind her to grab her nearby cart and steady herself as she backs away. Then, steady, straightens the side seems of her dress as she smiles demurely, says pleasantries, and then goodbye. She pushes her cart and looks down at her list and knows that she is as red as the radishes she now passes. One aisle over she pauses to breath in and out and then in and out and to peer quickly into her compact. Two aisles over he is there again, and in theatrically exaggerated absent-mindedness has left his cart blocking her path. As she pauses, smiles, waits, he sidles up next to her, almost touching, a bottle of honey in his left hand, the enormous nipple pointing skyward, and asks her about one of the three ingredients listed. His right hand finds its way down her back and around her waist, coming to rest above the swell of her right hip. She giggles, says that it is pronounced “hunnee,” and pushes on, smiling.
Two aisles over he is there again, puzzling over which roll of paper towel will best meet his absorbency expectations. He consults her, reaching down to make his selection as she glides to a stop, and when he comes back up he is behind her, holding the rolls at arm’s length to each side of her head, cradling her shoulders with his upper arms and breathing in her perfume. She goes a little limp, tilting her head into his shoulder and exposing the curve of her neck. He bows his head and kisses her there, as she presses her backside into his groin, feeling his striving cock through the fabric.
She turns, looks at him and says, flatly and with a slight widening of her eyes, “I have to pee,” and steers her cart toward the single restroom at the far side of the store. He follows, watching the hem of her sunflower-yellow sundress twitch and sway as she walks. There is a queue, as there usually is in this giant market with but one restroom-with but one bowl and one basin and one lock-and the service hall is crowded with people, coming, going, waiting. She leaves her cart on the adjacent aisle and joins the line of three or four backed up against one wall of the hall. He joins her, leans near her against a closed door across from the restroom, and as she turns to face him she leans in and kisses him full on the lips, hard at first, his teeth clicking hers in surprise, and then softly, her lips parting his, her tongue searching. He looses both his sense of decorum and his equilibrium, pulling her in and slumping against the door behind them. The kiss lingers, and it is so sweet, so missed, so good, that she is conscious only of his probing tongue and a familiar sensation of falling.
She almost came, right then, as his tongue grazed the tip of hers in that florescent hallway, her middle finger brushing slowly, deliberately over her pulsing clit below the scented surface of the water. She feels her thighs quiver involuntarily and hears through the grocery store musak that subtle clicking noise her teeth always make as she grinds them down toward orgasm. She likes to work her clit slowly, to strum it with all four fingers in quick succession, overloading the synapses in an instant, bump-bump-bump-bump, and then pause on the edge until the nerve endings are practically begging her fingertips for the next contact. It is the anticipation that does it for her.
Then, a thought, and up she comes out of the tub. She will draw this out, reach the climax of her fantasy slowly, languidly, and she knows what has served before. First, the heat lamp in the bathroom, then her favorite toy from its hiding place in the adjacent bedroom, applying lube to it as she returns to the bathroom and places it on the tub ledge, then back into the water on hands and knees, draining the water level to just below her pussy and adjusting the dangling shower-wand temperature far into the blue end of the scale. Now, where was she?
The sensation of falling she feels as their kiss ripens is a bit too complex. She feels it in her heart because she had once loved this man, but she feels it in her head because she is, in fact, falling. The hallway door that she is pressing him against is not locked. It isn’t even latched, and swings open under their weight. They tumble, eyes closed, consumed by passion, through it and into what they come to realize is an un-peopled, picture-windowed office, an observation booth really, with counter-style desks which jut from the base of the windows, with lumpy office machines on the counter desks and armless task chairs strewn around the room. He realizes instantly that the glass is one-way; she does not. The door swings closed behind them.
He smiles a little smile at her. She returns it. He comes closer and reaches between her arm and waist and clicks the lock button in the center of the door handle home. She makes protest with her eyes and thumbs toward the glass. He pulls her close and blows the word “one-way” into her ear. She shivers and narrows her eyes, and brings her hands up behind him to squeeze his cheeks. He leans back and removes the thin strap of her purse from across her neck, letting it drop to the floor, then undoes the top button of her dress, then the next and the next, exposing her pale yellow bra, her nipples straining against satin.
She reaches down and finds the cool steel of his belt buckle, then the zipper, then the tang. He reaches down below the hem of her dress and slowly drags his fingertips up the back of her thighs, expecting the line of her panties and finding only gooseflesh as a low moan escapes his throat. She has him free now, and drops down to one knee to pull trousers and boxers over knees and ankles and away. She rises slowly, running her nails lightly up the back of his legs and across his cheeks, then holds his cock back against his stomach as she licks from base to tip along the underside. It pulses and jumps and before she can engulf the mushroom head with her mouth he has her upright and spun about, his thumbs inside the waistband of her lacy, yellow thong, the waistband dropping slowly across cheeks and mons and thighs and knees, over ankles and he is spreading her legs about shoulder-width apart. The flat of his hot, wet tongue is working its way up the inside of her leg. Her breathing quickens, she braces herself against the desk in front of them, and bends to allow him to tongue her deeply.
The heat lamps and the steam have done their work. Sweat drips from her forehead as she supports herself with one arm and holds the shower wand in the small of her back with the other. She dips her sex into the tub, warming the folds and valleys and openings, and then dribbles cold water from the wand down between her cheeks, over puckered anus and swollen labia and engorged clitoris. She repeats, and repeats and repeats, and the forth such repetition finds her mouth wide open and her breath coming in short huffs as she drops the wand and quickly grasps her favorite-a translucently pink, double-ended jelly dong, fat and cock-headed on one end and tapered on the other-and guides it back between her thighs and into position. She nudges her clit, and teases her hole, spreading lube over all, then spreads herself with its girth. It fits her discretely, fills her sucking carnal void, and she moves it in and out slowly, creating a lewd popping sound with each withdrawal, bumping her screaming clit with each insertion. The tapered end sits, patiently, sticking out behind her, and she is close, but knows to leave it there for now.
He is biting her moisture-matted, auburn haired lips, sucking her clit, probing her vagina, oh god… he’s circling her asshole, then pushing her dress far enough up to lick the hollow at the small of her back. She straightens and spins, pushes him back into a chair, his cock sticking straight up like a purple-veined flagpole, hot and enormous, and she is on him, groping, knees hugging his waist, guiding him into her, arching as he drives home, then rocking, pumping, bouncing, her fingers twined behind his neck. He slowly spins the chair they are in, and the movement compliments the twirling in her brain as she nears her climax, but that’s not it. He wants her to see what he sees. He turns her and the picture windows behind come into full view. She is fucking this man, taking his body into her own, in full view of at least twenty strangers, if not for the one, millimeters-thin, layer of reflective film.
“Oh, Yess! Yeeessss! Ooh, God, YES!” The tub is almost drained now and the side of her face rests against the oily residue at the bottom. She works with both hands now, frigs her clit rapidly with two fingers of the left while the right slips the tapered end of the dong into her tight puckered asshole. “YEEEESSSSSS,” she rasps as she clamps down on the fat end with all her strength as the rude, pink snake widens her sphincter and the gods of pleasure deign finally to bless her shell-shocked clit with the kiss of release.
“I’m coming!” she says, quickly, and then again, “I’m…c…commmming!” And she is rising, rising with the first spasm as it gathers strength in all her far-flung erogenous zones-from nipples, from neck, from knee pits and soles-and bears down upon her cock-full clit. “YES, YES, YES,…YEEEESSSSSS!” And then, “NO, NO,…OH, NO!” as she feels something else, an enormous pressure she has felt before, one she knows the onrushing spasm will render unbearable. It is too late, and a final high-pitched “YEESSS” escapes her throat as the spasm crashes into her, the exquisitely nasty pressure too much now and she is coming and pissing and coming and pissing and coming as her gasps the briny-sweet smell of urine fill the room.
He is smiling, as he pants beneath her, has bunched the hem of her dress up into his hand and is holding it in the small of her back, clear of the deluge, happy to know her so well.
The tub has been wiped dry; the candles put out. She is downstairs browning hamburger on the range top and still thinking about a man who was too right. If only he had given it more time. If only he could have controlled his fear, allowed himself to know her well, even, well enough.
The dog barks, a car door slams in the driveway, her son is home for dinner, the snow turns into rain.
The End

She was going to kill Kevin.
The SOB might be her big brother, but he apparently knew less than she did about finding one’s way around the big bad woods at night, and she knew exactly squat.
“I knew this was a mistake,” she grumbled, yelping when yet another slender branch snapped out of the darkness to welt her cheek. “OW!”
This “great idea” of Kevin’s–a camping trip in the middle of nowhere in the middle of July– had turned into a joke the minute they’d arrived at what he considered to be the ‘perfect’ site, only to realize an hour later that he’d forgotten tent stakes. And bug spray.
And matches, and fuel for the camp stove.
And supplies for S’mores.
All the other stuff she could forgive. But not having graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate bars had been the last straw. And now they were lost–in separate counties by now, she assumed–and she was exhausted. She didn’t want to admit to herself that it had been her bright idea to split up and look for shelter. They did carry cell phones, but hers was already dead. Giving up on finding her brother, Liz had spent the last hour looking for some place she could lie down to sleep without worrying about bears, bobcats and skunks.
Shoving through some thick brush, Liz stumbled out of the woods and into a nice wide clearing. Toward the far side of the clearing near the tree line, a squat, solid looking little cabin appeared like the gift of a desert mirage.
“Ha!” Liz shouted triumphantly. She might know next to nothing about surviving in the wild, but she was fairly damn sure that skunks couldn’t turn doorknobs. The place was dark and apparently deserted–at least for now–and she was in lost camper heaven.
Stomping up the two solid plank steps to a narrow porch, Liz made enough noise to warn any creatures that she was coming, and nearly cried when she found a bed, a couple of musty old quilts, a tiny, questionable bathroom circa 1950, and even a fireplace. Twenty minutes later she was curled up on the mattress she’d pulled in front of the fireplace, in bra and socks and panties, but despite the heat, having a little fire, to ward off the bleak of night. Once her head lay on the pillow she was asleep.
“Hey! Wake the fuck up!”
Liz jolted from sleep, crying out at the hard jab in the back of her thighs and flipping to her back to find that the jab had come from a kick, delivered by a pointed-toe western boot attached t a very tall male.
“W–what?” she stammered, still groggy. The fire was nearly out and darkness still reigned outside the window. “I’m…sorry. This must be your cabin…I was lost and–”
“Well, you can just get up and get lost again, you trespassing little bitch.”\
“S…sure. I’m sorry!” Liz insisted, pulling the quilts around her while grabbing for her jeans, T-shirt and shoes. She managed to get to her feet when the cabin door opened and she turned toward the sound of a new voice. Another man.
“Well, what the hell—?” the new man snapped.
“We got us a trespasser,” the kicker grumbled. “She’s leaving.”
Keeping her head lowered, Liz took a step toward the door, opting for the door and changing outside in preference to being between these two strangers any longer. The one near the door was older, well over six feet tall and dark haired, with steely eyes who looked to be in his fifties. The other was similar in looks, but younger.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to–”
A hard hand shot out to prevent her escape. “Well, don’t be sorry, ma’am,” the elder man said gently. “I sure as hell ain’t. You’re a real nice surprise.”
Liz finally looked him in the eye–she couldn’t help it; she had to know if what she thought she’d heard had been real.
It was real. His grey gaze drilled into hers, fairly smoking with lust.
“No.” Her voice was helpless; a whisper so raw it hurt her throat.
He smiled; his hand tightened on her bare upper arm. “Drop the clothes,” he told her firmly. “And the blanket.”
Liz’s hands convulsed on her belongings. “Please…don’t,” she whispered, panic whistling through her bloodstream. “I’m begging you.”
“Well, you ain’t yet,” the steel-eyed man assured her. “But you will. Before we’re through with you, pretty girl, you’ll be on your hands and knees, begging. For more.”
A nasty little snicker from behind her had Liz looking over her shoulder to the boy standing there, his posture menacing. He was 19 or 20, maybe, and slightly taller than the other one.
“You thinking what I am?” the tall boy mused.
“I dunno,” the older one replied, taking Liz’s shoes and jeans and shirt and tossing them aside. “What’re you thinking, son?”
SON. Oh, god. Liz cringed.
“I think the bitch makes my cock hard.” Leering, he slid his hand down to cup the obvious bulge in his jeans, rubbing himself suggestively.
Liz closed her eyes, turning away. She opened them again suddenly when the quilts were ripped from her hands.
“Don’t!” she pleaded. Then screamed, “NO!” as four insistent hands tore the quilt away. Free from the cloth and ‘daddy’s’ hand on her, she whirled, making a hard run for the door, only to be grabbed and slammed into a wall, face first.
“Don’t try it,” a hard voice growled at her ear. “I’ll fucking kill you, bitch.”
A single sob escaped Liz’s throat. She heard herself blubbering…begging not to be hurt but it was as if she weren’t really here; everything started to feel more nightmare than reality. The hard young body behind her–the son–pressed her harder against the wall. Liz gasped at the size of his cock, pressing through his jeans and her thin panties like a slab of hot steel.
“You’re gonna love this,” he hissed in her ear. Then, grabbing her tits, he pulled her backward, turning her and shoving her toward the fire. Without pause he stalked toward her where she stumbled across the mattress.
Liz screamed when he fisted a hand in her hair, jerking her into position so that she was on her knees on the hard plank floor before him.
“No…please,” Liz moaned.
The fist in her hair tightened. “Open my pants,” the boy in front of her ordered, shaking her hard when she hesitated. “Open my fucking jeans!”
Liz’s hands were shaking and pale against the faded, well worn denim. It took her three tries to get the snap undone but the zipper was easy. He put his free hand over hers on the tab, hurrying her. Then, ignoring her, he shoved at his jeans and briefs, forcing them down over his hips. His cock sprang up, a full, thick eight or so inches crowned with a smear of precum. Wrapping his free hand around the base, he shoved it at her lips.
“Suck it!” When she only moaned again, mouth closed, he slapped at her mouth with his dick, wiping precum all over her mouth. “Open your mouth and start sucking, bitch,” he growled. Then he pulled her hair until she opened her mouth to scream; instead he stuffed her full of his beefy erection, pulling her forward hard by her hair to bury himself in her mouth and throat. Making animal sounds of satisfaction at having subdued her, he put both hands to her head and immediately began slamming his cock in and out while she whimpered, trying to breathe.
Liz fought, but the little bit of air she could gasp between fucking thrusts of his big cock, she quickly felt herself growing limp as she neared unconsciousness. Still, even that blessed darkness eluded her, remaining always just out of reach as she was forced to pleasure the boy’s pulsing shaft.
“Unh….oh, yes, baby,” he hissed above her, watching his own cock sliding out, only to disappear down her slick, wet throat again as he shoved forward. He was rock hard, horny and dying to feed this little bitch a big helping of hot cum. “You love suckin’ cock, don’t you, whore?” Forcing his meat deeper into her, he threw his head back, crying out in pleasure. “Keep goin’, slut…you’re gonna drink every drop!”
Liz could feel the hot excitement of him; could feel him trembling, his cock twitching and throbbing hard against her tongue. She knew he was nearing his orgasm and dreaded the thought of having to swallow his cum. Blinking tears away, she saw the other one out of the corner of her eye. ‘Daddy’ was sprawled out in an armless wooden chair, his jeans and white shorts down around his ankles, shirt open, knees spread obscenely wide. From the thick black thatch of hair between his thighs, his cock jutted up and out; he had one hand on his balls, squeezing, and the other jerking himself off as he watched his son raping her mouth.
Liz tried not to gag but as Junior pumped, she could feel saliva running out at the corners of her mouth and she was making rough, wet gurgling sounds as she took him against her will into her mouth and down her throat. Suddenly, Junior stiffened, grabbing her head in a viselike grip and impaling her onto his cock as hard and deep as he could go, closing off her air.
“Oh…god…SHIT!” he yelled tightly. “Fuck….” Spasming wildly, his hips bucking against her face, he exploded, shooting thick hot streams of cum down her throat.
Liz had to swallow. By the time Junior backed away, moaning with satisfaction, one hand playing with his still hard cock, she was gasping for breath and coughing, her mouth filled with the taste of his cum in place of his cock. Falling onto the mattress, she greedily sucked in air and on every breath came the smell and taste of it. She had only a moment before Daddy was shoving at her, forcing her onto her back, pulling her hair to get her neck at the edge so her head was off the mattress, her throat aligned for him. When she struck out at him, he slapped her so hard on the side of the head that she tasted blood with his son’s cum and while her ears were ringing, Junior whipped off his belt to tie her hands behind her back. Then she was put back into position, this time with her arms pulled painfully behind her.
Daddy mounted her face. Kneeling at her head, he played with himself while Junior used a hunting knife to cut away her panties and bra. Then they were laughing obscenely, four hands and two greedy mouths and tongues and sets of teeth grabbing, nipping and sucking her tits and forcing her legs apart to play rough fingers between her legs. Fighting to twist away from them earned Liz a hard punch on her inner thigh.
“Okay, little girl,” Daddy rasped, breathing hard with excitement. “Now you’re gonna suck my dick. Be real nice,” he said threateningly, “or I’ll fuckin choke you with it.” Putting one hand on her forehead, he shoved her head back as far as it would go while forcing the hot, bulbous head of his cock to her mouth. Finding her resistent, he let go of his cock and hit her across the tits before pinching her nipples hard.
Liz arced up in pain and took him. Opening her lips, she numbly resigned herself to sucking him off and eating his cum. Daddy began sawing in and out of her mouth in a ruthless rhythm that slammed him deep at each stroke. Fortunately Daddy wasn’t as long as his son, but he was thick- -an overwhelming mouthful of cock. Liz ate him, disgusted by his lusty grunts and the filthy way he told her how good she was at it.
“Make the bitch cum for us, boy,” Daddy grunted heavily as Junior shoved open Liz’s thighs, lowering his mouth to her pussy. “I want her to cum with my dick in her throat. I want her to remember how much she loves gettin’ raped.”
Liz closed her eyes, crying desperately as she felt Junior’s thumbs parting her lips; his hot, wet tongue delving into her for a first taste.
“Oh, yeah,” Daddy huffed, squeezing Liz’s tits. “You spread those legs nice and wide for my boy now, little girl. He’s gonna get you off real nice. Oh, shit…you got a sweet fuckin’ pussy. That feels real good, don’t it, bitch?
Junior knew exactly what he was doing. No hard, dry finger thrusts or untutored tongue stabs–he used his mouth to wet her thoroughly before going to work on her clit. The first tiny spasm of pleasure hit Liz and she tried to escape his mouth by twisting and bucking her hips.
“That’s it, boy!” Daddy urged. “Ride her pussy! Don’t stop–the bitch’s gonna cream all over your face!” Excited by the idea that his son was going to force her to orgasm, Daddy started jamming his cock into her at a furious pace. “C’mon, girl…suck it!” he growled, slapping her tits hard as he fucked her mouth. “SUCK MY DICK!”
Liz obeyed. Like a whore, she gobbled his cock, licking and sucking him the way he told her to. And all the while, she tried to ignore Junior’s iron grip holding her thighs apart and his too- expert tongue working like a vibrator against her clit. After ten or fifteen minutes, Junior thrust two fingers into her wet pussy and she bucked hard as pleasure stabbed through her. The start of her orgasm made Daddy cry out, “Aw….fuck!!” and while she lay pinned by Daddy’s cock and Junior’s hungry mouth she came, her body jerking and bucking wildly.
“Yeah, girl…CUM!” Daddy yelled. “Yeah! FUCK!” And then he was shooting molten jism into her mouth, emptying his load while she screamed in protest around his thick meat, body twitching in the last seconds of her own explosion.
Before the first hot wave of shame finished washing over her, Daddy whipped his dick from her mouth and Junior got him to help turn her over. Unable to lever herself on her knees with her arms still bound behind her back, Liz found herself on her face on the mattress, her ass in the air. Behind her, Junior made some crude comment and Daddy laughed. Forcing her knees farther apart, Junior got into position behind her and before she could finish a moan of protest, his big young dick was shoved to the hilt in her cum-soaked cunt.
“You’re a nasty little bitch, aint you?” Junior taunted as he grabbed her hips and starting fucking her hard, his balls slapping her ass at every thrust. “We got us a nasty little cock lover here, Dad.”
Thoroughly ashamed and utterly humiliated, Liz simply lay there, arms pinned painfully behind her back, legs spread open, and her pussy being viciously pounded by Junior’s thick, hard cock. The taste of his cum and his father’s lingered in her mouth. She would just lie here quietly, she thought, and take it.
Then Junior slapped her ass. Hard.
“Wake up, bitch!” Junior demanded. Slapping her again viciously, he fucked her harder. “C’mon…I know you like it hard and nasty. I wanna hear you beg for it!”
Liz made the mistake of saying no.
Junior pulled out, grabbing her by her bound arms and pulled her up, making her scream as he forced her across the room, slamming her face down onto an old wooden table. Putting one big hand on her back, he held her down hard, kicking her legs apart.
“Stop!” Liz sobbed. Her legs were spread so far apart she was afraid she’d split in two. “Please…”
“That’s right! Beg me!”
Liz heard the jangle of a belt buckle…Daddy’s, she thought….only an instant before Junior whipped her across the ass with it.
“NO…………AHHHOWWW…..” Liz sobbed. “DON’T!!”
“Tell me you want fucked,” Junior demanded. “Tell me you’re a nasty little whore!” And he struck her again, whipping the backs of her soft thighs.
“YES!” Liz sobbed. “YES! I’m a whore…don’t hit me anymore!”
He did, making her whole body jump, and making her scream.
“Tell me!”
“I’m a whore,” Liz wept, desperate. “A nasty…slut… a cock loving whore!”
“What do you want, bitch?”
“Fuck me,” she barely whispered.
The belt whistled through the air again…another stripe on her ass.
“OWWW!….Please,” she sobbed. “PLEASE!”
“Please what, whore?”
“Fuck me…Please fuck me!”
“Louder, bitch…I don’t think you really want it.”
“FUCK ME….PLEASE! I want your cock inside me!”
She screamed again when he put his hands on her ass, spreading her wide from behind, and shoved his cock so far up into her pussy she nearly went over the table. And while Liz sobbed, Junior gave her the hardest, cruelest fucking of her life, laughing at her pain and making her beg him over and over.
Through the night, she was reduced to an animal. She was whipped and fucked; forced to crawl on her hands and knees to beg each man to be able to suck the cum from their engorged cocks. She took them in her pussy and her mouth and took their abuse, all the while having to tell them that she wanted it; needed it.
In the morning, when they finally kicked her out, nude, tossing her clothes out after her, Liz grabbed up her things, running for the edge of the wood where she could be hidden from their sight. There she fell to her knees, dropping her things around her, looking back at the cabin where her night of horror had just ended. Sobbing, her body sore and her pussy weeping cum from both men, she couldn’t help what she needed to do. Sitting back on her thighs, she grabbed her own tit with one hand, squeezing hard before pinching the nipple, and shoved her other into her abused pussy. And there, just released from hell, she moaned and cried out as she gave herself one orgasm after another, head thrown back, body bucking with pleasure.
To Be Continued…

I was Nervous - very nervous for my first day at the new High School. My family moved across state in the middle of my senior year of High school as I just turned 18, and I was forced to finish my last year of High school at a new place.
I got my schedule in the mourning and tried hard to get through the day, and then I say at the bottom of my sheet that I was signed for gym class the last period of the day. I hated gym class, and I cursed my Mom for making me pack gym clothes in my bag. This meant I was going to be ready to change and go for gym.
I walked as calmly as I could into the locker room after the bell rang signaling the last period of the day, and walked right in the middle of a bunch of guys changing for gym. I wasn’t ready for it, and was caught of guard as a bunch of guys continued to move around naked around me. I wouldn’t call myself gay, not now, and not back then, but curious, and all these other senior boys were ripped and muscular, making an awkward situation for me to try to change with my cock growing in my pants. I found and empty locker and made my best to try and change without being noticed. Then my heart jumped as I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned to see a muscular guy, with a broad smile, and only white briefs on his body standing before me with a hand extended.
“Hi, I’m Josh.” He told me. I was stunned, then finally found enough sense to shake his hand back. His chest was hard and I couldn’t help but noticed the natural bulge in his underwear. he just smiled as if he hadn’t noticed my staring.
“I-I’m Nick.” I lamely replied, and that was it, and he went back to changing. Just as I slipped on my gym shorts I heard a door open and the chatter grew to a halt as someone stepped into the locker room. I turned to see a man who looked to be in his early 20’s standing with a clipboard in front of a doorway I had not noticed before.
“Let’s hit the track.” He said and the boys around me began filing out. I followed Josh, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“Who’s that guy?” I asked Josh.
“Coach Phyloe” He replied. I nodded and repeated the name in my head. I looked back and took another glance at the coach. He was hot to say the least. Baby Blue eyes, spiked blond hair, and I could tell he was muscular. Through out the class we did laps around the track, and I met up with Coach Phyloe for a moment to let him know I was new, and what my name was. I also got to meet with a few of the other guys. Some guy’s, Ryan, John, and Rob, were pretty nice to me. And I couldn’t help but notice how good looking they were. When gym class was over we followed Phyloe back to the locker room.
“Hit the Showers” Phyloe ordered, and as the boys pulled their clothes off and grabbed a towel, I felt my stomach flutter. Josh looked at me as I sheepishly pulled off my shorts and wrapped my towel around my waist. “You ready for it?” He asked.
“For what?” I replied, but he was already running towards the foggy opening to the already running showers. I slowly followed and when I stepped in, I was caught completely off guard when I saw Coach Phyloe sitting in a chair near the door surveying the boys as the showered their sweaty nude bodies. There was an empty chair beside him and he looked at me with his blue eyes.
“Have a seat Nick.” He offered, or ordered, I couldn’t tell. I sat down with my towel still around me, and didn’t know whether to look at the boys like I wanted to, or try to look away. Then Phyloe blew his whistle.
“Let’s show The New guy what we do when it’s time to hit the showers! Assume your positions!” I could not believe my eyes as the guys from the track stopped rubbing their bodies clean and met in the center of the shower. One half of the boys stood naked with the water splashing down, and the other half got on their knee’s in front of them and opened wide. My mouth dropped open and a tent formed with my towel as I watched the boys on their knee’s engulf the other half of the classes penises.
I watched as Josh supplied Ryan with oral pleasure, and John did the same for another boy, just as Rob was receiving a blow job from another hot senior boy. As the moans escaped their lips they all fell to the shower floor and got into a 69 position. Soon everyone was sucking a cock and getting their dick sucked at the same time. I was about to cum right there.
“That’s it! Fuck each other’s mouths!” Phyloe ordered. They all began to quicken their pace and at blinding speed continued the oral fuck fest. “Shoot your Loads!” The Coach demanded, and they all pulled their mouths off each other’s cocks with a nice popping sound and begin beating each other’s meat. I watched as the hot sweaty and wet body of Josh began beating off Ryan’s cock as Ryan did the same for him. Then with about 25 shouts of pleasure a giant amount of hot white liquid shot up into the air and back down all over the bodies of every senior boy in the shower. They collapsed in the center of the shower room in a sweaty hot heap and I realized suddenly that I had taken my towel off and was jacking off my hard soldier.
“Nick, It’s time for you to join the group. To do so, you’ll have to bend over and take it like a man.” Coach Phyloe said, interrupting my masturbation and forcing me off the chair and onto my hands and knees. I looked back behind me and say that Coach Phyloe had dropped his shorts and pulled off his shirt, and was now, in a glorious shimmering splendor of muscle and hard hairless body, standing behind me in the nude. My eye’s bugged out of their sockets as they fell upon his huge 9 inch monster cock. It was the biggest I had ever seen and out grew all the senior boy’s in the center of the shower by far. I then realized that Josh, Ryan, Rob, and John, along with the other boys, were all watching me.
I knew what was coming, and I felt the head of Coach Phyloe’s giant penis touch my puckered ass hole as his hands parted my cheeks. He didn’t even try to guide it in slowly, and just rammed his fuck pole as hard as he could right into my Hershey Highway.

The pain swept over my ass as his big cock relentlessly fucked me. I thought I was going to be ripped in two for a few moments as Coach Phyloe continued ass ramming at blinding speeds. Then the pain began to go away, and was replaced with great pleasure. I realized that my hot gym teacher was fucking me in my ass hole while the class watched, and I was turned on, and found myself with a raging hard on.
“Beg to get fucked harder!” The coach shouted as he continued his butt assault on my ass. It only turned me on more. “KEEP FUCKING MY POOR ASS COACH PHYLOE!!! DO IT HARDER!!!” I screamed back through clenched teeth as he picked the pace up even more. Then he let out a giant moan, and jammed his 9 inch rod all the way in my hole. With a shutter he let loose and I felt a long jet stream on hot liquid shoot into my ass and fill it to the brim. This alone caused a reaction and without even touching my prick, I exploded all over myself and Phyloe collapsed on top of me.
But this was the last class of the day, and little did I know, The Shower fun was far from over!

It was only Monday afternoon and already it felt as if I had been running since the day began. It was going to be a really long week, if this pace kept up. I hoped I would be able to grab some time to relax.
I left home before 6:00 a.m. and had made five follow up visits on clients between 7:30 a.m. and Noon. The afternoon was even busier - seven stops and I didn’t finish the last one until 6:00 p.m.
I finally got to my hotel about 6:30. I was really looking forward to getting checked in and then hitting the fitness center. The check in went quickly. I punched the up button on the elevator.
I watched the indicator lights flash as the elevator descended from the upper floors. I stepped back as the door opened. Jon, whom I had met before stepped out. He had his running gear on. “Hi, Brad, just got in, huh.”
“Hi Jon, yes, just got here. I’m going up and change and hit the fitness center.”
“Maybe I’ll see you later, then.”
Jon strode across the lobby and then began to jog as he reached the parking lot. I changed as quickly as I could and then went to the fitness center. I warmed with some stretching and walking on a treadmill. No one else was in the room so I was able to workout on all of the stations on the exercise machine.
After cooling down with some more time on the treadmill and stretching, I decided to return to my room and shower instead of using the fitness center showers.
When I got back to my room, I stripped out of my sweaty workout clothes and wrapped a towel around my waist. Then I decided to ring Jon’s room and see if he might want to eat dinner together. I asked the hotel operator to ring Jon’s room. It was funny, but I could hear a phone ringing in the room next door. It rang several times before Jon answered.
“Hello, Jon, it’s Brad. Have you had dinner.”
“No. not yet.”
“Neither have I. Do you want to go someplace and catch a bite.”
“Sure, but I want to take a quick shower first. Why don’t you drop by in fifteen or so.”
“Sure, Jon. What room are you in?”
“716.”
“Hey, you are right next door. I’m in 718.”
“”Just a minute.” I heard Jon lay the phone down then I heard the lock on his side of the connecting door click. “Come on through when you are ready.”
“O.K. Just a minute Jon. I put the phone down and walked over to the connecting door. I unlocked the connecting door on my side and opened it. Jon had opened the door on his side.
Jon’s running shoes were lying on the floor and Jon was across the room at the desk. He was holding the phone. His t-shirt was hanging over the desk chair.
I walked back to my phone. “How would you like to have someone wash your back?”
“Sounds good. My shower or yours?”
“Makes no difference to me. Yours will be fine.”
I hung up the phone and walked into Jon’s room. He had turned to face the door. As I entered, he pushed his running shorts down and stepped out of them. He turned his back as he bent down to pick them up. My cock twitched and I licked my lips as I looked at his hairy ball sac and suckable balls dangling below his ass. After hanging his shorts over the back of the desk chair, he turned towards me again.
I looked at his crotch and at his long slim cock that felt so good in my ass that night in the locker room in another hotel. “You are looking good, man.” I took off my towel. My cock was semi-hard in anticipation of things to come.
“You’re looking good too. Let’s get reacquainted while we shower.”
Jon turned towards the bathroom. I followed. Once the water temperature was adjusted, Jon stepped into the shower and I followed. Jon picked up the bar of soap and started lathering up. He handed me the soap. I lathered my arms and chest as Jon watched.
“Give me the soap. If you’ll turn around, I’ll wash your back first.” I turned to face the shower wall. Jon started at my shoulders and neck and worked his way down my back. When he got to my butt, he slipped a soapy hand between my legs.
I felt his fingers brush against my balls. As he pulled his hand back, his fingertips slid across my pucker. Jon worked up more lather on his hands. He put his arms around me and began to lather my chest and stomach. He pulled me back against himself as his hands slipped down to my crotch.
As he took my cock in his hand, I felt his cock brush against my butt. My cock was beginning to harden as Jon rubbed, pulled and twisted with his soapy hands. I spread my feet a little and leaned forward, bracing my hands on the stall wall.
Jon leaned against my back. I felt him press his slim cock between my ass cheeks. As Jon jerked me, he began to hump my ass. I could feel his cock getting harder as he probed for my asshole.
“As I remember, Brad, your ass is really tight. And, if your thick cock feels this good in my hand, I can imagine how it will feel when you fuck me.”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Well, if you want to fuck, you’d better pull your dick from between my legs and unhand me, so we can finish showering and go get some dinner.
“Let’s pass on dinner, we can order something from room service later.”
We separated and then rinsed off. As I toweled off, I still had a major boner. Jon’s cock jutted in front of his crotch.
“Let’s get comfortable.” Jon led the way into his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed as I stood in front of him and stroked my cock. He watched a minute, then slid off the bed and onto his knees in front of me.
“Come here. I want to show you something.” Jon gripped my cock and pulled me up close to his face. He licked my cockhead and then he leaned forward and nuzzled my ball sac with his nose before sliding his tongue up the side of the cock shaft.
He licked my cockhead again before slipping his mouth over it. Jon took about half of my cock into his mouth. He kept his lips lightly clamped around the shaft has he began to move his head. His lips moved up and down my cock shaft and around the rim of my cockhead as my cock moved around inside his mouth.
It felt really, really good. Especially when Jon used his tongue to rub around the rim of the crown while my cock moved in and out and around inside his mouth.
“You’d better ease off, Jon, or I may blow my load.” Jon slid his lips as far as he could down my cock. He then pulled his head back in a hard vacuum suck. My cock popped out of his mouth and stood erect.
“I don’t know what you were doing, but, man, that feels great.”
Jon grinned at me. “Oh, after I get a nice mouthful of cock, I just move my head around by tracing a figure eight with my nose.”
“Well, that’s something I’m going to have to learn. But get on the bed now, it’s my turn.”
Jon lay down and I lay beside him. I began to rub his chest and stomach and lightly pinch his nipples. I let my hand stray down to his crotch and brush his pubic hair and nudge his dick.
I then moved around and down so I could begin licking his cockhead. I held his cock upright as I ran my tongue around the rim and over the crown. “How long are you going to be in town, Jon?”
“I’m working out of here all week. Why?”
“With your permission, I plan to deep throat your long cock before Friday morning is here.”
“Be my guest. I’d like that.”
“Good. I’ve always wanted to see if I could swallow a foot long hotdog and deep throating your cock is a nice way to practice.”
“I hope you won’t be disappointed. I think it is only ten or eleven inches at best.”
“It’ll do,” I laughed as I opened my mouth, put his cockhead on my tongue and swallowed as much of his cock as I comfortably could. I squirmed around so I was sort of lying with my chest across Jon’s stomach. The curve of his erect cock was a close match to the curve of my throat.
I was happily licking and sucking and trying to swallow more of Jon’s cock while he played with my cock and balls. Jon told me to get into a kneeling position over him. I did so as Jon pulled my cock down to his mouth.
The 69 was enjoyable but I couldn’t swallow as much cock as before. I closed my mouth loosely around his cock and began moving my head in a circle. I alternated between moving my head in a circle and in running my tongue over and around his cockhead.
Jon stopped blowing me. I crawled from over him. He propped himself up on his elbows. “What were you doing to me? It felt great.”
“I was just doing a circle suck. It’s similar to the figure eight, only you move your head in a circle. You can vary the size of the circle, change directions and keep as much or as little cock in your mouth as you wish. And it isn’t tiring. You could circle for hours, if you wish.”
It was getting late. We decided to call it a night. I went back to my room and ordered a chef’s salad from room service. I ate while I brought my notes about the various service calls up to date. By the time I had finished eating, I had the next day’s calls organized. It had been a long day.
I had taken a quick “wake-up” shower and was just finishing shaving when there was a knock on the bathroom door. It was Jon. He was wearing a hotel furnished terry robe.
“Good Morning. When you are finished, come on over. I’ve made a pot of coffee.”
“Good Morning. Jon. Thanks, I’d like that.”
Jon turned to leave. After applying deodorant and aftershave, I slipped on my own terry robe and walked through to Jon’s room. Jon was seated at the desk and sipping coffee. The only light in the room was from the television, from the alcove next to the bathroom and from the connecting door to my room.
I walked back to the alcove where the coffee maker, microwave and refrigerator were located and poured myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep well?” I walked over to the desk and leaned against it next to Jon.
“Pretty good, how about you?”
“O.K., but not long enough.” I glanced at the TV and sipped coffee. Jon reached over and undid the belt on my robe. He slid off his chair onto his knees as he opened my robe. Then he picked up his cup, took a drink, set the cup down, swallowed, and then slipped his coffee-warmed mouth over my soft cock.
Jon buried his nose in my pubic hair as he used soft vacuum sucks. I set my cup down. As my cock stiffened, he began his figure eight motion. I looked across the room to our reflection in the mirrored closet doors.
I wondered, in how many rooms, this morning, this domestic scene, unique as it was, was being repeated. How many people were giving or getting pre-breakfast blow jobs, eating pussy or getting their pussies eaten or enjoying a wake up fuck.
Jon was cupping my balls as he licked up and down my cock shaft. “You smell and taste good, man, clean and fresh. I was hoping for some cream for my coffee, but room service will be here any minute with our breakfast.”
Jon stood up and closed and tied my robe. There was a knock, “Room Service.”
Jon unlocked and opened the door after checking through the peephole. The waiter carried a tray, which he set on the desk. Jon signed the check. He locked the door behind the waiter.
“I ordered ham and eggs. I hope whole wheat toast is o.k.”
“That’s fine.” I picked up a carafe of orange juice and poured a glass for each of us. As we ate, we talked about our schedules for the day. I said I hoped to be finished early and back here by 5:00 or 5:30 at the latest. Jon said that was his plan also. I asked Jon to stand up. As he did so, I unfastened his robe, warmed my mouth with a large drink of coffee, swallowed the coffee, leaned forward in my chair, and swallowed his flaccid cock.
I stopped sucking him off after a few minutes and stood up. “I hate to eat and run, but both of us had better get a move on.”
Jon surprised me by taking my head in his hands. He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. “Have a great day, Brad. I’ll be waiting for you this evening.”
Fortunately, many of my service calls were fairly simple and the morning went quickly. I skipped lunch to write up the service reports for the morning calls. I knew what I really wanted to eat. The afternoon wasn’t quite as successful. I had to get online to download some critical software and some patches for a couple of clients who hadn’t kept their software up to date. But still, I was unlocking the door to my room at 5:10 p.m.
I opened the door and stepped in. Jon was sitting on the couch. He was wearing the terry robe and sipping a drink. He opened his robe and started to stroke his hard cock.
“What happened, Jon? You get tired of waiting and decide to start without me?”
Jon just smiled and continued to jack off. I walked over to him, kneeled down in front of him, put my hand over his, and helped him stroke. Jon took his hand off his cock. I slipped my hand down to give his balls a little squeeze, while with my other hand I took Jon’s drink and placed it on the floor.
I pushed Jon back and to the side so he was lying more-or-less lengthwise on the couch. I moved my hand from his balls to the shaft. I held his cock as I opened my mouth and pushed my lips as far down his shaft as I could. I stopped a minute and told myself that I could open my throat and swallow it all.
I moved my hand back to Jon’s balls. I lifted his sac as I pushed my cock loving mouth farther down his shaft. I wrapped a thumb and forefinger around his shaft to mark the spot. I slowly moved my head back until his cockhead slipped from between my lips.
I held his cock erect so we could see my progress. I had swallowed seven or, at most, eight inches. I had deep throated a “normal” cock, but I still had three or four inches to go before I would be able to feel Jon’s pubic hair against my lips or to where I could press his ball sac against my nose.
I licked my lips and swabbed his cockhead with my tongue before I slowly “plunged” my mouth back down his cock. I pushed down to my finger and thumb then pushed a little more.
Jon was rubbing my butt through my clothes. He sort of croaked, “Go change clothes. I’ll fix you a drink.”
I went into the bedroom and undressed. I didn’t put on my robe because I would just have to take it off again. I had so enjoyed swallowing Jon’s cock, that I had given myself a nice hard-on. My jutting cock swayed as I walked back to the couch.
Jon had taken off his robe and had spread it on the couch. He was sitting down with a drink in each hand. “Your hard-on looks like an obscene figurehead for a sailing ship.” Jon laughed.
“Well, yours isn’t exactly a shrinking violet.”
Jon looked down at his erect cock, which was still wet with my spit and saliva. “No, it isn’t. I’ll bet that you’ll reach your goal tomorrow night.”
“Goal?”
“Yes, you’ll achieve deep throat tomorrow night. Very few lovers, either men or women, have swallowed as much as you did.”
“Well, if I do, you had better be prepared to cum and shoot a load of cream almost directly into my stomach.”
“In that case, we would both be winners. Sit down.” He patted the couch next to himself. I sat and he handed me a drink. As I took a sip, he wrapped his hand around my cock. His hand was cool from the drink.
“What is this? I don’t recognize the taste.”
“Well, actually, it’s mineral water with just a touch of flavored grain alcohol.”
“Aha! A sneaky pete, so you can get me drunk and seduce me, you cad!”
“Something like that, but I suspect you are somewhat of a pushover.”
“Only with men with a glib tongue and long slim cocks that are, I might say, challenging and tasty at the same time.”
Jon Laughed. He had set his drink down. He leaned towards me and kissed me on the lips. I set my drink down and the kiss became a French kiss. Jon broke the kiss and moved down my neck. He sucked my nipples then worked his way to my cock.
He concentrated on running his tongue over and around my cockhead. I leaned back and spread my legs to give him better access. He moved around until he was kneeling on the couch. I could rub his back and neck and reach under him to stroke his cock and fondle his balls.
I ran my hand down his back to his butt. I slipped my fingers down his crack to his asshole. I discovered he had lubed himself up. Jon stopped sucking me. “I didn’t want to waste any time. I hope I haven’t taken you for granted.”
“No, Jon. I’ve thought about fucking your ass ever since your invitation back in that other locker room.”
“Well, you cock is thick and meaty and feels good in my mouth, so I think it is time to see if it feels as good in my ass.” With that, Jon stood up and walked around and bent over the back of the couch.
I followed him. “Fuck me, Lover.” I pulled Jon away from the couch a bit, spread his feet apart, and pulled his cock and balls down so I could easily stroke and fondle them. I put one hand on Jon’s hip to steady him and used my other hand to guide my cock as I stepped up behind him.
I pressed the tip of my cockhead against his puckered asshole. Jon exhaled and pushed back as I put my hands on his hips. His asshole opened and expanded as my thick cockhead pushed into it. There was some resistance as I pushed against his muscle ring. Jon inhaled as my cockhead pressed through the sphincter. I felt his asshole close around and grip my cock shaft. I slowly pushed my cock all the way up Jon’s ass.
I was tight against Jon’s butt. My pubic hair was pressed against his ass and my cock was deep within him. “Fuck me, Brad. Fuck me, please.” I pulled out slowly until I felt his muscle ring. Long strokes and slow strokes. Steady and deep. I reached around his waist and grasped and started to stroke his cock.
Jon began to pant and buck against me. As he bucked, I stroked his cock harder and faster. Jon arched his back. I felt his cock stiffen even more as he began to blow a load on the back of the couch and on the carpet.
Jon leaned on the couch as my cock remained in his ass. “I guess we’ll need some carpet and upholstery cleaner.” He stood quietly. Without the pumping action in his ass, my cock was softening. “We need to rest and get something to eat.”
Jon stood up and my cock popped out of his asshole. He walked to the alcove with the refrigerator, opened the door and removed a plate of sandwiches. “What would you like to drink? Beer? Wine? Water? Even milk?”
“Do you have any energy drinks? Two bottles, because both of us are going to need them after we finish eating.”
I decided to clean up first. When I returned, Jon handed me the sandwich plate. I took a ham sandwich and then poured myself a glass of wine.
“Eat hearty, Lover. And eat quickly.”
I sat at the desk. As I ate, I asked Jon, “Have you ever worked with a couple of consultants, a husband and wife team, named Judy and Rob?”
“No, I can’t say that I have. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I worked with them recently. They are a unique couple of consultants.”
“How so?”
“Judy has a fantasy of watching her husband, Rob, getting it on with other men. He participates willingly and eagerly. She gets so turned on and when she decides to participate, she gets down and dirty. Oral, vaginal and anal with no holes barred.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Yes, I suspect she would really like watching Rob get double dicked. And Rob likes watching her get screwed so he ‘can suck the cock of the last man who fucked her.’ She gives good head too.”
“Hum. Sounds like my kind of people. I’d like to meet them. A mouth is pretty much a mouth, present company excepted, and an ass is an ass regardless of whether or not it is male or female. And, old Jon, here, has been known to dip into prime pussy on occasion.”
I stood up. The talk about Judy and Rob had given me about half a hard-on. Jon also had the beginning of a boner.
“Let’s get comfortable on the bed.”
I followed Jon. We lay down side by side. He leaned over me. We shared a French kiss. Jon held my cock as he kissed and licked his way to my crotch. I stretched out so Jon was forced to stretch too. We lay on our sides facing each other.
Jon held my cock as he flicked the rim of my cockhead with his tongue. My cock got harder as Jon concentrated his attentions. I jacked and licked his cock shaft and fondled his balls.

She was nervous, excited. They were meeting today–THE RENDEZVOUS. They had been talking about it for days. He had made arrangements for a room, but she didn’t know really all that he had in mind. She was on edge–in a good way–anticipating. The sexual tension in her was about to burst.
They were meeting for lunch at a very nice seafood restaurant. He told her what car he would be driving. She told him what she would be wearing–black skirt with a split almost to her hip and black heels, black tank top and dress jacket. She wanted him to want her.
She told him that morning that there would also be a surprise when they met–no panties and access in the crotch of her pantyhose. She tantalized him with the idea of her touching herself before getting out of her vehicle, and giving him a taste of herself before going into the restaurant. She could hear his breath catch when she shared this plan with him on the phone. She smiled to herself. She knew he liked the idea.
She spent much of the morning in preparations–a long, hot, luxurious shower. As she washed herself with the soapy washcloth, she imagined it was his hands sliding over her body–and moaned with the pleasure of anticipation. She washed her hair–again and again until she was satisfied that it would be perfect when dried. She dried and powdered and perfumed. She let her hair dry a little bit on its own while she made sure her clothes were just right. She styled her hair, taking time to make sure that it lay prefectly. Then, it was make up time–nothing too much–just a little foundation and a bit of blush. She waited until just before time to meet him to add a little lipstick–nothing too brash or bold.
She drove to the restaurant. Her mind was awhirl with anticipation of what was to happen later. When she was almost there, she spread her legs as she drove, and dipped her fingers inside her quim, and covered them with the scent of her love nest.
She drove to where she thought the restaurant was, panicked a little when she wasn’t finding it, but drove on a little further and saw the sign–Jim’s Seafood. The parking lot was full. She couldn’t find his car. But, he flashed his lights for her, and she pulled into the space beside him.
It was raining. He got out of his car, and brought an umbrella with him. She got out of her van when the umbrella was opened, and they stood together in the rain and kissed briefly. He asked for a taste of her fingers, and moaned with pleasure as he sucked her love juice from them.
They made their way into the restaurant and were ushered to a small table in the back by a window with a wonderful view of the river. The river was low and the tumbling of the water over the sluice was almost mesmerizing. Small talk ensued. They discussed what to order. There were a few allusions to later–a couple of blushes by her, and some smiles of anticipation from both of them. The lunch was delicious. He ordered Boston Scrod and she ordered Galveston Oysters. They talked and laughed and enjoyed each other’s company.
Mutually, they agreed that it was time to leave. The rain had stopped. There was a freshness in the air that always follows a good rain. They walked to the cars, kissed. She followed him in her van. The anticipation was welling up in her–slightly jangled nerves–raw with excitement about what was to come in just a little bit. His left blinker was on. Oh, my! She followed him through the parking lot of the hotel. Her nerves were atingle. Her legs felt weak. Would she be able to walk with him?
He parked. She parked. She managed to get out of the car and bring her bag of “necessities.” He smiled at her. She calmed a bit. They walked together. He made small talk–bits and pieces about nothing in particular–to calm her. He was a bit nervous too, but more confident than she.
When they got to the door, he unlocked it and held it for her to enter first. It was as he had described–a nice room with a king sized bed. He had turned back the sheets already. Her breath caught in her chest. He turned on some lights, and came back to her. He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply–soul to soul. She responded in kind, her small tongue waging passion’s war with his larger one. There were no losers in this war–only winners. This kiss ignited the passion that had been dwelling within both of them. She could feel him grow hard against her as her quim became damp.
He broke the kiss and said he was going for ice for later. She walked around the room, unsure of what to do. Within a few minutes, he was back. He came to her again and kissed her gently. He slipped her jacket off her shoulders and very carefully hung it up. He kissed her again. This time he moved down her neck and kissed her chest. He took the bottom of her shirt in his hands and started to pull up. She raised her arms to help him take it off. Her shirt was off. He put his arms around her, kissed her again. He ran his hands over her shoulders and back. It was the first time he had touched her skin there. The tingle from his hands was electric to her. It sent shivers up her spine and fire into her groin. She responded–kissing him deeply, passionately. He moved his hands up to the hooks of her brassiere. Within seconds her breasts were freed. He took a moment to look at her, bent down and gently teased each nipple with his tongue and hands. Her breath caught. She thought her knees would buckle. He started to unzip her skirt. It caught, and she helped him finish. It fell to the floor in a pool of black. She was clad only in the crotchless pantyhose. She slid them down, and there she was, just as God had made her without the encumbrances of clothing. He held her, kissed her, running his hands over her body as if he wanted to melt her into him.
It was his turn to undress. He asked her to lie on the bed and wait for him. She watched as he undressed–slowly. Her loins were aching. She wanted him to hurry, but she was patient–he would be hers soon. First, he removed his jacket and hung it next to hers. Then he removed his shirt and undershirt. She was getting anxious–she wanted him next to her. Finally, he removed his pants and underwear. Oh, she could hardly wait for him to walk across the room!
He moved to the bed and lay down next to her. Her heart was pounding. She was breathless. He put his arms around her and pulled her close–body to body, skin to skin. It felt so good to be held. They kissed–deeply as if their tongues could touch the other’s soul. She moaned in pleasure.
Intent on pleasuring her, he kissed her chin, her jaw line, her neck, and moved down her body to kiss her chest. In turn, he gently kissed each nipple, lightly running his tongue over each one. Her nipples immediately hardened in response. He moved on down her body, kissing lightly over her abdomen and down to her naval. He ran his tongue inside French kissing that hollow. She gasped and moaned at the sensation. Her hips were already starting to move in anticipation of the delights that were to come. He moved further down. He kissed the inside of her right thigh, moving all the way down to kiss the sensitive spot on the back of her knee. Slowly, deliberately, sensuously teasing her senses, he moved back up her right thigh. She thought he was going to her quim, but he moved to her left thigh and slowly and deliberately repeated the process. He kissed her gently down the inside of her left thigh to the back of her knee and then back up. She was breathless with anticipation, making pleasure moans with each touch of his lips and tongue. Her hips were starting to thrust. She wanted him so!
Her legs were quivering with excitement. He gently pulled her dew lips apart. He flicked her clitoris with the tip of his tongue. The touch sent a jolt of electric pleasure throughout her body. Her body tensed. She moaned unable to express her pleasure in any other way. She pushed towards him. His lingual attentions to her quim and clit became more intense. He started at the entrance to her love canal and gently but quickly licked up over her dew lips to her clit. She cried out at the sensation. She was even wetter. He had his hands on her hips. She put her hands on his and gripped tightly. Raising her pelvis she thrust to his mouth, rocking her hips in rhythm with his flicking tongue on her clit. She made breathless sounds of pleasure with each brush of his tongue. Her breathing became ragged. Her cries were coming more quickly. Her pelvis moved more fervently. His tongue darted on her clit stimulating it to an intense hardness and sensitivity. She could feel her orgasm building deep inside her. She could hold it no longer. There was an explosion from within her that felt like jolts of electricity to every part of her body, especially from her quim. She had cum! He tasted the sweet spiciness of her love juices–cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg. He loved the smell of her–the taste of her. He took all of her in, basking in the joy of the orgasm that HE had caused–relishing the satisfaction at being the one to make her feel such pleasure.
He kissed her clit one more time–kissed her dew lips and her thighs, and then moved up to lie beside her. He moved his hands over her body, talking sweetly to her. Her breath was still ragged from the orgasm, and her heart was racing. He could feel its rapid rhythm in her chest. He talked to her, encouraging her to slow her breathing and relax in the afterglow. He turned her face towards his, and leaned down