bubble butt

The strobe lights reflected off her glasses, obscuring her eyes. From my darkened vantage point across the room, I imagined I was invisible to her. I was caught off guard, then, when her lips curled up into a fey smile. Was she really looking at me? I felt a warm tingle build in my lungs.

She turned her head slightly, allowing me to see those dark umber irises underneath. They were, in fact, pointed directly at me. Her face was bathed in a blanket of crimson.

I smiled back at her weakly. She blinked, then looked away. I thought to divert my gaze as well, but somehow I remained transfixed. There was something oddly familiar about her, something that tickled the depths of my memory in a vague and increasingly vexing way.

I then noticed her getup. Her cloche hat was tipped just so. A lacy tank dress clung to her like Saran Wrap, framing her curves with tailored precision. Those pumps her feet were crammed into didn’t look cheap either, nor did the somewhat garish jewelry dangling from her neck and wrists. It all appeared so fussily considered. Pretenses aside, this was a dyke hookup party; that usually went without saying, but everyone knew that’s what it was at base. Dress-up was purely optional.

Still, I found this girl’s extra effort charming. It spoke to her youth, and looking at her, I was reminded of the days when I felt compelled to do the same. Like her, I once went the extra mile in my presentation, nitpicked every detail. I felt that if I could define myself with fashion, I wouldn’t have to actually explain myself to anyone. In more recent years I’d grown a bit cavalier, perhaps a bit too comfortable with myself. I didn’t have to doll myself up much anymore. These get-togethers drew a lot of regulars, and the women who shared my interests knew where to find me. I rarely went home alone.

Had this girl heard about me? Or was she just naively browsing, unaware of my reputation? I saw her clutch her plastic cup tightly and raise it to her lips. Watching her, it dawned on me that the light beaming down upon her perfectly matched the hue of her ensemble. Red on red, like a chameleon settling into its camouflage. And yet I the same, with my dark grey dress pants and black blouse, laying in the murky shadows.

She suddenly stood up, her head still turned away from me. I took note of her figure. She was fairly short, with a trim upper body and modest bust. From the waist down, things took on a more well-fed appearance, culminating in a rather prominent bubble butt. Even through the loose-hanging drape of her skirt, it was hard to miss. As she turned in profile, it jutted out at a crisp angle.

She took a few short and meandering steps towards me, pausing every so often. I saw her mouth move as if she were talking to herself. She hung her head now, stealing glances at me so quickly that I’d have missed them if I weren’t glaring at her as expectantly as I was. I slowly uncrossed my legs as she approached, and placed my hands on my lap.

As she wandered closer, I squinted, realizing that her long black hair was actually dreaded in places—a strange curveball, I thought. I noticed her raccoon-grade eyeshadow and excessive lip gloss. Glimmering studs ran through two sections of her nose. These details clashed with the abbreviated sophistication of her dress, though of course this was probably just another of her inspired calculations, and I found it charming all the same.

I felt caution creep in, however. At this proximity, I couldn’t determine her age. She honestly looked like she could easily be one of my daughter’s friends, and keep in mind my daughter hadn’t yet graduated from high school. Was this girl even old enough to be in the bar? You’d think the staff would have tightened up door security after last year’s incident, but the Friday bouncer remained notoriously lazy.

The girl’s large eyes glimmered up close, snapping with subtle mischief, topped by strong dark eyebrows. Inhaling dramatically, her lips parted slightly to reveal small, faintly yellowed teeth. She held her smile, stomach contracted as if she were waiting for permission to exhale.

I blinked. I wasn’t sure what to say. I nodded and flashed a grin. She relaxed her posture a bit.

“Hi, I’m Branda,” she said. I detected a curious spot of southern drawl in her speech. I took a quick sip from my cup, then flashed her a grin.

“Hi there,” I said, casually. “My name’s Cat.”

She blushed, looking me up and down. “Oh, nice. I like cats! Or is that short for something?”

“Catheryn, but I prefer Cat,” I said, finishing the last of my vodka tonic hastily and setting the cup on a nearby table. “Nice to meet you, Branda. That’s a pretty name.”

“Oh, thanks! Nice to meet you, too, hehe,” she muttered, bouncing on her heels a bit. There was an awkward pause. I could see her calves tense with each movement, and I noticed that they looked rather toned. I took a chance and seized the opportunity for conversation that they presented.

“Hmm. You’re not a cyclist by any chance, are you?” I asked, glancing down at the exposed portion of her legs. She paused, looked down, and then chuckled again.

“Oh, wow. You’re pretty observant. Um, well I’m not pro…I just ride my bike a lot,” she said, downing the last of her drink almost simultaneously. “Are you?”

I shook my head. “Me? No, I do a few laps around the reservoir on Sundays if I have the time, that’s about it. I should do it more often.”

“That’s cool. I’m a bike junkie. Been riding since I could ride!” she said with a grin. She stared at me as if wanting further validation, tensing her stomach again. I nodded politely. I could smell her cheap alcohol breath and it wasn’t particularly flattering. I also was now a little unsure how attracted I actually was to her; I can be quite fickle, I’ll admit, and something about her manner coupled with her less-than-ideal age was beginning to disappoint me.

“So…” she said, looking around. The bass of the trashy dance music rumbled underneath us dramatically for a moment before settling into an ignorable throb. I leaned back, my hands now on my lap. I took a deep breath.

“So!” I returned, smiling more exaggeratedly. I brushed a minuscule speck of lint off of my sweater for no particular reason.

“So, Cat. Who do you know here?” she asked.

“Everyone and no one,” I said. She tittered. I narrowed my eyes. “Hmm. If you don’t mind me asking, Branda, how old are you exactly?” I asked. I saw her calves bulge again.

Her eyes dodged around the room. I folded my arms and flexed my lips up to a sneer. She caught my cue and stopped, and then exhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry! I just don’t want you to think—”

“How old are you?” I interrupted, my patience waning. As cute as she was, I simply was not in the market for jail bait. I ran my fingers through my hair and stared her down severely.

“Uh, 21,” she said unsurely.

“21?” I asked, searching her face for some kind of clue. She quickly nodded.

“Yes, I am. I mean—actually, I’ll be 21 in about sixty seconds,” she said, looking at the large LED clock hanging from the upper balcony.

I glanced at it. 11: 58 flashed to 11:59.

“Is that so? I guess Alvaro gave you a pass tonight, then?” I asked, incredulous.

“Oh, you mean the door guy? Umm, yeah. Okay, I’ll be honest, I used a fake ID to get in, just because. But I’m going to get a real ID first thing tomorrow, promise!” she said, quickly looking around her to make sure no one overheard her admission.

“I see. Then happy birthday, Branda,” I said.

“Thank you, Cat!” she let out. She stood still, staring at the clock while crimping her fingers. Finally it flashed midnight, and a joyous peep escaped her shiny lips. “Yay! Alright, so I’m 21 now. That means…um,”

“Yes?” I said, exhaling deeply.

“So uh. I was gonna ask. Do you remember me?” she said, anxiously fiddling with her necklace.

I shook my head no. I wondered if she could see the soft lie in my gesture, the glimmer of stifled recognition in my eyes. She seemed undeterred, in any case. I did recognize her somehow, but the word “remember” implied something more than that.

“You don’t remember last Friday?” she said. She ducked her head down close to mine, her knotty hair swinging back and forth in tandem with the bling dangling from her neck. I mentally replayed my previous Friday night at the bar…

I remembered being approached by a woman approximately in her 40′s who introduced herself as Letitia. I’d seen her on the periphery for a few months, and we’d made some telling eye contact, but it took her some time to find her way to me. When she finally came up, we chatted for about five minutes, though I can’t recall what about.

Whatever it was aroused both of us, that much I know. I then guided her into one of the lockable bathrooms. When she turned quietly and bent over in front of me, we both knew why; as I’ve said, I’ve got a solid reputation. I pulled up her skirt to reveal her predictably bare bottom. It was flat and pasty like the rest of her, but I wasn’t feeling particular at the moment.

Approving of it, I slicked my fingers up with liquid soap from the disposer, and within a few minutes my fist was wrist-deep in her rectum. She orgasmed fairly quickly, leaving my fingers slightly soiled in the process, though this didn’t bother me. As I washed my hands in the sink, she stood in the mirror next to mine fixing herself up with a large smile on her face.

I remember that awkward moment where “Letitia” tried to kiss me, but I pried her off of me as politely as I could. I wasn’t in for that kind of thing. if she’d had asked around the bar a bit more, she would have known that in advance. I’m married, and I just do this for the release—I get enough kisses and hugs at home.

I could see the dejection in her eyes, and was a bit sympathetic to it, but I had my boundaries. To soften the blow, I told her that she could come back for another examination any time she pleased. I said it as sweetly as I could, even though deep down I wished she wouldn’t take me up on the offer; I’m not too fond of return customers unless they’re extraordinary. In any event, my encouragement seemed to hearten her a bit, though I sensed I may never see her again. She seemed to get the hint. She wasn’t there the night I met Branda, in the least.

That was my only strong memory from last Friday night, and this young Branda was definitely not anything like the woman in my recollection. So I could not for the life of me know why she would have any recollection of us talking previously. I shook my head to her question.

“No, dear, you must be thinking of someone else. I’ve never spoken to you before.”

“But, you have! Ms. Weiss, you have to remember me, I—”

“How did you know my last name?” I shot at her severely. My heart began beating faster.

“Oh…” she began, then bit her lip.

My mind started to race. The only person in the bar who I’d ever given my full name to was Lena, one of the bartenders. But she doesn’t work Fridays, so there’s no way this girl could have gotten it from her—or was there? I always figured that if rumor ever got out about me and my profession, Lena would be to blame. But that would go against everything I knew about her. Lena was as trustworthy as they come. Plus, I knew just as many potentially defamatory details about her life as she did about mine. In any case it didn’t make sense for her to blab to some random, clueless 20 year old.

“Tell me,” I repeated. “Tell me how you know my name.”

“I don’t know,” she said unconvincingly.

“Tell. Me,” I said, flexing my upper lip.

There were very few functions where she’d have access to my last name. Wait staff taking my credit at a restaurant, okay. Behind the counter at a DMV, okay. But I couldn’t think of many other legal ways. Or, more accurately, the only other way I could think of was so unfathomable that I merely did not even want to entertain it. And, then, the unfathomable came from her lips.

“Because…you saw me last week. In your office. You’re a doctor, right?”

I froze, then looked away. I wanted to deny it, but she was right. I was a specific kind of doctor, too: a colorectal surgeon. Proctology was (and still is) my calling in life, strange as it seems.

I shifted in my seat, lips pursed. I knew that my non-answer would tip her off, but I wasn’t about to out myself in public. I just waited for her to continue. She crouched before me and put both hands on my knees. Every muscle in my body tensed.

“You are. I know it! You saved my life…” she said. “You really did. You don’t remember?”

Suddenly I recalled who she was.

Last week at work, a young college-aged girl had come in with an emergency. She’d inserted a vegetable into her anus—a relatively small butternut squash, if I recall correctly, which is still fairly big by nature—and it had traveled so far up her rectum that she couldn’t retrieve it. I’d extracted plenty of anorectal foreign bodies in my time, so nothing about my initial interaction with Branda stood out in my mind.

When I’m at work, none of my kinks apply; I am all business, and details about one-time emergency patients usually exit my mind the minute they’re out of sight. But with Branda’s reappearance, it began to dawn on me not only had she enjoyed her medical experience, but she was stalking me for more, and this flustered me. It also had the strange side-effect of turning me on, which I found slightly disturbing.

Reflecting for a moment, I did recall sensing something strange in her demeanor during the operation, something oddly lascivious in place of where ordinary concern, fear or discomfort would have been a more normal response to the probings she’d undergone. But, again, when you see as many asses in one week as I typically do, you stop trying to psychoanalyze your patients and just get to the task at hand.

“Yes, I do,” I said curtly. “But whatever you have in mind, forget it. I don’t know how you found me here, but I don’t appreciate being stalked. Please, leave me alone.”

I saw her face immediately droop.

“But…” she began. “I’m sorry for stalking…I mean, all I did was follow you after work that day, but it’s not like I’m, y’know, hacking your emails or anything.”

“What?” I said, fighting the urge to stand up in outrage and cause a scene. The bar was only a 15 minute walk from my office, yes, but I never imagined anyone would trail me like that. I wasn’t exactly in the closet about being a lesbian, but I did want to remain discrete about my particular sexual practices as much as I could, especially since they correlated with my professional interests so closely.

“Wait, you mean you didn’t think it was hot?” Branda said.

“No,” I said.

I could tell she’d come too far to give up so easily. She took a step closer, daring to place a hand on my shoulder. “I mean, it hurt like hell…and it was really embarrassing, I’ll admit that,” she said. “But, come on. You didn’t enjoy…feeling inside, so deep. Feeling me stretch…”

“Oh god. Go now, dear,” I said, a twitch rolling up my spine. I pulled away, releasing her hand from me. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

I’d had a very distinguished professional career up to that point, and I wasn’t about to jeopardize it by talking to some tipsy college girl. I knew I had to put up clear boundaries, whatever her intent was.

“I’m sorry—” she let out, her eyes beginning to water. She began to turn away. Her sudden, almost innocent-seeming reaction took me by surprise, and almost made me forget how sketchy she was being.

“Wait, hold on,” I said in a hushed voice.

Why did I say that? I couldn’t tell. I’d just nearly managed to get her off of me, and yet I was calling for her to stay a moment longer. Maybe it was the alcohol, though I hadn’t had much. Maybe it was just the power of her charms working, as skeptical as I was.

I unthinkingly reached into my pocket, and pulled out one of my business cards. I pressed it into her hand. “Here’s my contact,” I said.

“Wh…what?” she said, confused. Frankly I confused myself as well, but arousal began to realize itself within me as those little dirty words flitted through my mind—”feeling me stretch.” I enjoyed hearing them spoken with that little country twang, falling from the mouth of this doll-faced little tart. connected them in my mind to the image of that fat, filthy veggie. My vividly soiled rubber gloves.

Other images came back to me—the pink rim of her elastic sphincter as it widened under the pressure of my dilator. The vivid details of the proctoscope as it traveled deep into the membranous darkness of her impacted bowels.

And then the smells—the heady fragrance wafting from her her gaping asshole, lingering in the air. The bittersweet scent of her sweat as it trickled down the small of her back, parting into two streams along the widely split ravine of her crack.

I shook my head, pulling myself back into the moment. When my eyes locked with hers again, I saw her in a totally different light. A green light.

“I can’t see you here. Come during business hours,” I said as calmly as I could, my mind swirling.

She looked at the card in her hand, then back at me, and finally a smile began to return to her face.

“Oh…so you mean, I should make an appointment?”

I nodded quickly. “Yes. Now go,” I said.

She bobbed her head in understanding, laughing nervously. “Oh, wow. Yes…Miss!” she said, turning on her heels. “I’ll…call…first thing Monday.”

I looked away, fearing someone would hear us. I’d developed a very good sense of when I was being eavesdropped upon, and a particular dyke hovering near me was well-known for being nosy. One thing about that bar was that everyone gossiped. I was walking on thin ice at this point, so I picked up my cell phone and pretended to busy myself. Branda thankfully got the hint, and by the time I looked up again, she was gone.

As of this writing, she hasn’t called.

I believe I’ll remember her as “the one that got away.” I didn’t even know I wanted her for certain until it was too late. That was over two years ago, so I doubt she ever will ever return to the bar.

I wondered, did she slip that veggie inside of her just to get the attention? Was this a pattern, and were there unsuspecting proctologists all over town who she secretly crushed on after painful extractions over the operating table? I may never know.

Perhaps never knowing is for the best. But in the wake of that bizarre encounter, I found myself taking more interest in my female patients, especially ones I suspected could be bi or lesbian. I began asking them about their lives more, something I’ve never done naturally.

I’ve never been an extrovert, but something about my experience with Branda bridged a gap for me I feel just slightly more invested now that I know my profession can, in fact, draw a few crazy moths to my flame.

Back at the bar, I’ve since decided to light up my murky little corner a bit. I bought a little red night light, and I plug it into the wall right next to my usual seat next to the bar.

It’s the same color red that Branda wore, and think I’ll leave it on until she returns.

The End

Shaun runs into his old obsession, Cam, in this chapter. For background, you should read Chapter 01 in the series. Don’t forget to vote…and send feedback!

Time – The Present

I hadn’t seen Sherri, or Cam for that matter, in three years. I’d missed them. I’d also undergone therapy for my sexual addiction during that time and had confined my physical pleasures mostly to weekends. So my recent chance meeting with Cam was pleasant, though – as always – platonic. We’d become good friends during the time I was her boss at the bank, but it was great to see her again and stir up what I thought were very private, hidden fantasies.

The past three years had certainly been kind to Cam, I thought, her divorce notwithstanding. If anything, her body was more toned and she had an air of maturity about her that I found compelling. To be honest, I found it very sensuous. I also shuddered with pleasure when I pictured her narrow-hipped, high ass – reminiscent of the bubble-butt that one sees on the finest black females – winking at me as she walked away.

What a fool Darryl was, letting such a fine specimen as that go, I thought of her husband. Then I had to force myself into a meditative exercise – prescribed by my sex therapist – to take my mind off of the carnal impulses I’d always felt when I was around her…and other women I lusted after.

Halfway through the morning after we’d run across one another in the bar – on a Wednesday – she called my client’s office, asking for me. “How did you get this number?” I asked.

“Shaun…you said you had an insurance client on the 40th floor. I’ve worked in this building for years and there’s only one insurance company there. I’m calling to invite you to lunch today.”

“Sorry, Cam, can’t make it. I’ve got a long meeting at noon. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Oooh, damn. I wanted to see you today, but…okay, tomorrow’ll do. Downstairs in the restaurant all right with you?”

“It’s a date. See you tomorrow at noon,” I said, wondering what was so important that she’d had to see me today.

Cam was waiting for me at the bar the next day, once again having a lunchtime glass of wine with her friend, Marsha. She was facing away from me, half-perched on a barstool, in a tan wool pantsuit with a maroon pin-stripe. Her jacket was expertly tailored and fit like a glove. Her pants…my Gawd, her pants! They highlighted her magnificent bottom, clinging to it and her upper thighs to the point that I thought their stitching would give way. Her feet were in her trademarked three-inch – this time burgundy – stiletto heels.

Marsha must have warned her that she’d seen me. As I approached them, Cam turned, beaming, and greeted me with a “Hi, sailor!”

“Sorry I’m late,” I apologized, at which point Marsha excused herself and left. I got the feeling that she was being used as a chaperone by Cam. Her independent manner told me that they didn’t work closely together.

Cam led the way to our reserved table and we settled in. “Like some wine? My treat!” she exclaimed. I had a light afternoon and needed to relax, so I happily said yes.

A half-hour went by and we’d not talked about anything more important than the weather. Our lunch had arrived and we’d almost finished it. What had been so important yesterday? I wondered. I decided to get personal…starting with a compliment.

“That’s a very handsome suit,” I ventured. I chose the adjective carefully, so as not to make my deep, lustful impulses too obvious. Under her jacket she wore a burgundy V-neck sweater that was so tight the inner slopes of her breasts swelled appetizingly over the garment’s neckline.

“Why thank you, Shaun,” she cooed. “I figured I’d better keep my legs covered so you’d listen to what I’m saying,” she added coquettishly.

I looked down at the table. She’d busted me. All those years before she’d noticed my slavish hunger for her legs, and now I was being held to task for it. I blushed, visibly, and stuttered a response, something like, “Ah…it’s just that…”.

“Don’t apologize, Shaun. I’d have to be blind not to have noticed your appreciation of my legs. But where’s your head now? You’re a successful entrepreneur, and I hope no longer just a skirt-chaser.”

Again I was speechless. I’d always admired Cam’s candor. At this moment it was hard to believe that at one time I’d been her boss.

“Okay…I’ll back off…and talk about myself,” she said quietly, unconsciously sticking a finger into the V-neck of her sweater…perhaps to free a nipple that had been caught uncomfortably in her bra. “My choice of Darryl was a bad one.”

“Why do you say that?” I questioned, now distracted by her tits.

“The first couple of years were great. Our sex life together was super and we were pursuing some great plans. Then he started to get really kinky.”

“Kinky?” I asked, probing for more details.

“Yeah…first he started bringing home sex toys – vibrators, plugs, dildos – then porn videos. Then we started going to porno clubs so he could get me used to watching other people make love.”

“Was he disappointed?” I asked.

“Not really,” she countered. “I’ve always been…aah…visually-oriented. Okay, I admit that I like to watch other people get it on. It excites me tremendously. But, finally, he really got pissed off when I refused to blow some guy in a bookstore glory hole.

“Understandable,” I muttered, astonished at her openness, “I mean…your refusal.”

“Really!” she huffed. “Think of the diseases I could’ve picked up! Anyway, then he tried to get me to join him with other women…you know, in threesomes.”

“And?” I queried, leaning forward with interest since I, myself, enjoyed immensely having two women at a time.

“Well…I almost caved on that one, but I didn’t…except…with one woman. I let him bring his dates…his girls…home, and I watched them screw. He even recorded them on video. Gawd, it got to be so weird, Shaun, but I allowed it anyway, since he was my husband. I loved him and wanted to hang onto him…and I thought it was just a phase we were both going through.”

My ears perked up at her admission of being in a threesome, ‘with one woman’. I wonder what were the circumstances. “He wanted more, though, didn’t he,” I said, sounding like my therapist.

“Yeah,” she said, now on a roll. “It got so every minute we spent together had some dirty sexual connotation. Remember when you offered me that part in the play? Well, he laughed, and told me that I could do it if I’d join him and his girlfriends in fucking after rehearsals!”

I vaguely remembered Cam being absent from work and out-of-sorts for a while before I quit the bank a few years before. But my memories had faded. Her story was all too familiar, since I’d tried to leave that sexually-obsessed life behind when I’d left. What that meant in practical terms was that I was still constantly being sexually tempted…always battling an inner demon that kept me horny on a continual basis.

“But you got pregnant,” I said.

“An accident,” she retorted, “but one that’s been the happiest of my life…having Amy. Shortly after that, Darryl and I stopped having sex, and that was three years ago.”

“You’ve been divorced how long…?”

“Two years,” she responded. “And that’s, basically, the story of my life since I last saw you,” she concluded, agitatedly, glancing at her watch, appearing anxious to leave.

“Gotta go?” I asked, sorry that our conversation was apparently finished. I wanted to hear more.

“Yeah…I’d better. Afternoon meetings, y’know,” she responded as she paid the bill.

We both rose at the same time and she gave me a quick, kiss-the-air parting. “See you soon,” she whispered, and walked to the elevators. She strode majestically with head high and shoulders back for perhaps fifty feet, then stopped to turn slowly…seeming to know that my eyes were devouring her gorgeous ass as it twitched invitingly. Seeing that I was watching her, she smiled to herself, turned and walked away, waggling her fingers in the air to say goodbye until next time. I couldn’t believe that Cam may have gone without sex for as long as two or three years.

All of the next day, Friday, I spent in client meetings, and looked forward to a free weekend. At 4:30 I descended to the parking garage for the commute home. I exited the elevator and started the twenty or so yards to where my car was parked. Even at that distance I could recognize Cam’s sublime, hourglass shape with her back to me, leaning over the windshield of my car and scraping a dead bug or something off of it. Unlike yesterday’s pinstriped business suit with pants, this afternoon she wore a very short, skin-tight, black silk skirt with a perfectly-tailored, black plaid-on-cream blazer that clung to her curvy torso and hips like a second skin. It matched the sheer black nylons and three-inch black heels with a single heel strap that made her extraordinary legs even more appetizing.

A rush of adrenalin hit me and my groin pulsed as I felt immediate sexual arousal. She’d made a point of contacting me each day since our chance encounter in the bar, and those efforts now seemed far beyond the boundaries of mere friendship. I hoped at that moment that my long-nurtured hunger for her might soon be fed. God help me, I thought, please let me have her!

I startled her from about ten feet away and she whirled around, wide-eyed. “What a surprise!” I said cheerfully.

“Gawd, you scared me!” she gasped, her palm against her chest, which was clothed in a black, translucent silk blouse under her blazer. “I…uuh…I was wondering if you could give me a ride home,” she said, breathily. I could give you a ride you to the ends of the earth, darlin’, I thought to myself.

“Sure! Hop in!” I said, hitting the remote unlocking button and opening the door for her. She sat down butt first, then swung her legs in, tugging at her skirt to cover herself while watching me ogle the tops of her thigh-high stockings.

As we drove home Cam seemed very agitated. Finally, she laid her hand on my forearm and said, “All night I thought about what I told you yesterday, and there’s just one thing I omitted. Sherri…was one of Darryl’s girlfriends.”

“I suspected that years ago, Cam. But, relax. Your family secret’s safe with me,” I assured her as we drove up in front of her building.

“You can park underneath,” she said, pulling a remote control from her blazer pocket to open an iron gate to the underground garage. “I want to show you my house.”

“Sure it’s all right?” I asked. “I mean, your daughter…”.

“She’s with Darryl for the weekend. He picked her up at noon.” I looked at her quickly and she looked away, saying, “Gawd, I’m such a phony, Shaun. I didn’t go to work today, but did errands instead. Then I took a cab to the bank parking lot just an hour ago, hoping I’d run into you.”

We glided into a parking space and my mind was rapidly trying to stay abreast of what was being said. “Well, then,” I soothed, “I’m flattered that you dressed so nicely for me. Let’s go upstairs and see your place,” I said, patting her soft hand as it nervously clutched my arm.

I was impressed. Cam’s townhouse was elegant, a mix of post-modern and minimalist Asian design. A large living room with fireplace and glassed-in balcony, and an adjoining kitchen, was surrounded by three large rooms, one a master bedroom, another one a suite for Cam’s daughter and nanny, yet another a combined home office and gym. “This is where I try to keep in shape,” she said. “I’d gotten so fat when Darryl and I were together.”

I hesitated before saying anything, then murmured, “I’ve never noticed you being overweight,” which made her blush. Her broken marriage must have destroyed her confidence in her body.

“Wine? Hope you like Chardonnay,” she offered, as she led me out to the small, glass-enclosed room on a balcony overlooking the bay from four stories up. It was dusk, the city lights were on, and the sunset ranged from light pinks to the deepest purples, reflected in a huge mirror that covered one side wall. I was transfixed by the stunning view and sat on the two-foot-wide arm of a plush sofa Cam had in the room.

She returned with our wine, offering me a glass with slightly-trembling hand, and turned away from me toward the view. She’d shed her blazer and now stood with her back to me, looking out at the view, her filmy silk blouse revealing a black bra that barely constrained her ample bosom. Single, solitary diamond earrings shone just under the curls over her ears. I felt short of breath as I fought the primitive urge to ravish this succulent blonde vision in foreboding black…sensuous, carnal and inviting beyond belief.

“Your place is lovely. You should feel proud,” I said, complimenting her on several other non-sensual things…including her intelligence, driving ambition, and courage to face the world as a single mother.

“Only in my best moments, Shaun. The rest of the time I worry whether I’ve done the right thing for my daughter…just like right now.”

That was the trigger, I thought…the final invitation. It was now or never, I figured. I placed my wine on a low table and grasped her waist from behind, causing her to inhale sharply, lay her head back on my shoulder, and mold her firm ass into my crotch. I kissed her on the side of her neck, over her jugular, and felt the blood pulsing to her brain. The quivering muscles in her body were as taut as steel springs as she whispered haltingly, “Ooohhh, Shaun. Every time…you look at me – from the very first – I get numb and heavy…all achy inside.”

My hands went to her fulsome breasts, kneading and plucking at her nipples, and she reached up to press my fingers into her firm flesh. “Uunnhh…honey…yesss…oooh, touch me all over,” she murmured, unbuttoning her blouse and unfastening her bra between its cups. She turned quickly, and my hands followed her, squeezing and fondling her thick, spongy nipples between my fingers. I felt her sweet, hot breath against my cheek as she looked up, regarding me with her gray eyes, eyes that begged for trust, yet were clouded with lust.

“Gawd, I want you…so much. I’ve fantasized…about this moment for years,” she whispered, pulling my lips down to meet hers with one of her arms behind my head. We both moaned together as our tongues danced in each others’ mouths while our hands began working frantically at disposing of our garments. You’re not alone in that fantasy, I thought.

We were hyperventilating from excitement. My Gawd, after all, this was Cam! She whimpered as I pulled the tails of her blouse free from her skin-tight skirt. I then dropped my coat, ripped off my tie, and shrugged out of my shirt. While I unbuttoned the waist band of her skirt and unzipped it down the back, she loosened my belt and dropped my pants. We kicked off our shoes at the same time and stood panting for a half-second before embracing, then we clinched and kissed passionately as her skirt dropped to the floor and our hands groped inside each others’ underwear. She quickly stripped my boxers down and grabbed two hot fists full of my cock and balls, squeaking in her throat as she did so, while I worked more slowly on lowering her gauzy, black silk thong that consisted of no more material than a couple of postage stamps on two cords.

Slowly I worked the g-string down over the jutting curves of her naked thighs that had entranced me for years. As I knelt on the floor her hands went to my face to stroke it gently. She moaned as I reached the lacy tops of her hosiery. I’d kissed and nibbled the creamy flesh above them in many previous fantasies, and now I did it for real, causing her to whimper again. My cock began pulsing in anticipation as I contemplated the feel of her soft loins yielding to mine.

When I’d rolled the thong to her calves it fluttered to the floor. From my knees I was finally able to concentrate on her breathtaking body, still partially clothed by her blouse and bra that hung from her shoulders. My hands traced up her stocking-clad legs, appreciating the muscular bulge of her calves as they swelled and nipped in at her knees, then up over her thickening thighs as they narrowed on the inside at her naked vulva, swollen pink from excitement. Once again I looked up at her flushed face as I licked my lips and reached around behind her to cup her firm, silken butt cheeks and pull her closer to me. Her knees were trembling from nervous desire and she spread them a bit to gain better balance. When she did her labia parted slightly and between them oozed a thick rivulet of her juice, seemingly waiting to be licked. Before I did so I inhaled the musky bouquet of the goo, then quickly split her cunt with my stiff, burrowing tongue. She cried out, “Ohh, Shaaauuunnn!” weaving her fingers in my hair while pulling my face to her crotch and moaning as I proceeded to lick the smooth, fleshy mound of her pussy clean.

Her hands tightened on my head as her excitement mounted and I glanced up at her to see her head thrown back in ecstasy, yet still she watched me in the large wall mirror through slitted eyes as I tongued her. “Sit, honey,” I whispered, moving her backward slightly to the wide sofa arm. She was breathing so heavily, her breasts heaving from excitement, that she didn’t hear me. “Sit here,” I repeated and she understood, stepping back at the same time she shrugged out of her blouse and bra to become naked except for her stockings. As she sat, she spread her legs widely, pulling them up toward her shoulders with her hands, and leaned her upper body against the sofa back. “Now you can watch us,” I mumbled, taunting her gently.

“Ooooh, Gawd…I love to do that…I can’t stop myself. I go crazy just thinking about watching us fuck. I wanna be such a…such a slut with you! Ohhhh, Jeezusss,” she gasped as I failed to respond verbally, instead spreading her plump pussy with my thumbs and flicking away with my tongue at her swollen clit. She began whining in her throat, then gradually lapsed into whimpers as her excitement reached a higher level.

Soon I spread the pink inner petals of her pussy with two fingers and twisted my hand in a corkscrew motion in and out, massaging her G-spot behind the pelvic bone. She responded by humping up at my hand, which increased in tempo as I returned to lick her clit. She was now groaning incessantly and had released her legs so that they draped over my shoulders, pulling my hand and face into her. Her smell was overpowering, and the amount of juice she was leaking would pose a challenge to whoever cleaned the upholstery on her sofa. But she was almost there…within a hair’s breadth of her first orgasm with me, and one that I hoped would be memorable. I’d had a lot of practice with scores of different women, but with Cam there was always the element of the unexpected…the unpredictable.

It came as an answer to my question, “Wanna cum, baby?”

“…am cumming,” she rasped through gritted teeth. “I’m cumming,” she grunted again, with eyes shut tightly. “Awww, fuck, Shaun…I am cu’…cum…cummmm-mmmminnngg,” she screamed as her body went rigid, then relaxed, rigid then relaxed, probably a dozen times as her climax reached its peak. That’s when she went wild. Rather than easing into an afterglow like most women would, she clawed at me, pulling me up and on top of her. Her hands went to my erect cock, grasping it roughly and trying to impale herself with it. “Come inside me! Please do me now, Shaun. I need it! Hard! Please fuck me hard!” she begged.

I grasped my cock and stirred its tip into her soft inner tissues, causing high-pitched cries, then finally eased my hips forward to sink deeply into her welcoming birth canal to its bottom. She watched in the mirror, moaning, as my probe invaded her body, licking her lips and seeing her thick juices cover it like a glaze. “Better?” I asked softly as I established a slow, regular tempo, along with circular hip movements designed to stimulate her tightly clasping vaginal ridges.

“Ooohhh, my Gawwd, baby…it’s so good,” she gasped and kissed me deeply as my hands went to squeeze both of her breasts rhythmically, timing my upward, milking grasps to coincide with my slow hip movements. “Please, do me harder…wanna get off again. You’re my first…since Darryl, honey…just fuck me…fuck me…please fuck me…”.

Cam had given me license to fill a void in her life, I thought to myself, as she filled my mouth with her tongue while grunting like a feral animal in her throat. Her hands clawed at me again from buttocks to shoulders as I drove into her cervix. Then she pulled her mouth away to gain breath and shout…until her screeches became silent and all she could do was look plaintively into my eyes and mouth silent words that looked like: I’m cumming again…oh, God, I’m cumming again.

That was enough for me. This would be her memorable orgasm. I punished her loins savagely, holding her hourglass hips roughly and driving my prick upward toward her heart as she climaxed again. Her fulsome tits flopped in circles as we fucked, so appetizingly that they almost distracted me from the task at hand. Finally, her body took over and she answered each of my thrusts with one of her own, accepting my plundering rod with abandon as her head thrashed back and forth and her nails dug into the sofa’s upholstery for traction until she lapsed into a soft mewling.

Then, the strangest thing happened. I felt a sudden urge to cum. My therapist had told me that, when that happened early during a first encounter with a woman, it was a sign of progress toward recovering from priapism, a symptom of my addiction. It indicated that I was submitting to unconscious pleasure rather than the manufactured idea of fucking like Superman until exhaustion. I uttered a groan of self-knowledge, which probably sounded to Cam like something totally different, something like the self-validating sound of pleasing one’s sexual partner.

“Gonna cum in me, baby?” she panted in a girlish voice, as we now fucked harder.

I responded with a groan and paused in drilling her, shaking my head rapidly to stave off the climax.

“Please cum, honey. Lemme feel your hot seed way up inside,” she pled, reaching down between our two bodies to feel my rigid cock slipping in and out of her cunt. “Oh, Gawd, I’m still…” she whispered, holding my hips still while I was fully-embedded inside her. “Feel me, baby,” she gasped, almost hysterically, as her extraordinary vagina repeatedly squeezed my cock without us moving. I allowed her to continue, holding my head in her hands and looking into my eyes, as her cunt began to pulse involuntarily around my embedded cock.

I don’t know who shouted first, Cam or me. I do remember blasting repeated geysers of spunk inside her as her cervical opening contracted and sucked my semen into her womb. I also remember the way her lovely legs locked behind my buttocks and – with each of my orgasmic pulses – pulled me deeply into her center as if she were operating a mechanical pump. I remember, too, the gentle way she murmured her satisfaction and stroked the spasming muscles in my lower belly with her thumbs as I spewed millions of sperm into her. I don’t remember how long we lay entwined on the arm of her sofa, shuddering and groaning each time one of us moved, but it was very sweet…very tender and romantic.

“Sweetie, let’s go into the bedroom,” she finally murmured, interrupting our mood. I was totally immersed in her, licking the tangy sweat from the crook of her neck.

“Okay, sugar…lead the way,” I whispered, lifting my body and causing my dick to slip from her, leaving a large cum stain on her sofa.

As she stood and walked ahead of me, she cupped her hand over her crotch to staunch the flow of semen that was running down the inside of her thighs over her stocking tops. My dick started to harden again as her deep butt crack and sacral dimples beckoned at me. Giggling, she minced into her bedroom and switched on a lamp beside her bed. “You’re running out of me,” she grinned, grabbing me around the waist, standing on tiptoe and kissing me. “‘S’cuse me while I go to the bathroom and clean up. I’ll be a few minutes, so make yourself at home.”

I flopped onto the bedspread and looked at myself in the mirror atop Cam’s dresser across from the foot of the bed, very pleased with the both of us. Minutes went by and I rose to retrieve my wine from the balcony room. It was now dark outside, as well as in the room, and I saw many residents of nearby high-rise apartments through their lit windows. As they went about their after-work lives, I wondered how many of them had witnessed Cam and me rutting passionately a few minutes before in what amounted to a glassed-in fishbowl. Not really caring, I went back to the bedroom, pulled back the covers, and lay down on the king-sized bed to sip wine for several minutes, awaiting her return.

When she finally did emerge, she looked refreshed, though her gaze still had that hooded look that speaks of a woman in a continual state of heat. She wore a silver silk pajama top that reached just below her crotch, with a tying sash that cinched it tightly around her small waist. Her stockings were gone, revealing the alabaster legs that for years had been the object of my lusty desire. She opened a nightstand drawer and put a tube of lubricant in it, closing the drawer. She then stood next to the bed, bending one leg and leaning one beautiful, creamy knee on the sheet.

“Sorry I took so long,” she said quietly, cupping her perfect, naked, 36C breasts underneath and slowly pinching her nipples so they pouted out at me through her silk top. “I wanted to get clean all over.”

“So long as you didn’t shower, I’ll bet I could find a spot or two on you that you didn’t get to,” I said, running my hand up under her pajama top across her naked thigh to her pussy.

She shivered and gasped, “I’m not much of a gambler. I only bet on sure things. For instance, if I were to take your cock in my mouth, I’ll bet I could make you cum in…maybe, three minutes. Let’s try it. If I lose, you can do whatever you want with me,” she promised, climbing onto the bed next to me and caressing my chest and stomach softly with her hand.

“You’re on, sweetheart,” I said, “but first, let’s get you out of your lovely silk thing here.” I untied her sash and she slipped the top off her shoulders, then knelt down at a right angle to me, kissing and licking softly at my flaccid prick, which lay lifelessly back on my belly. From that angle I could see in profile the beautiful arc of her back, her full, pendulous breasts underneath that hung from taut pectoral muscles, and the extraordinary curve of her ass as it protruded in the air. I couldn’t remember in my life having seen a more perfect feminine physique.

She used one hand to hold up my rising shaft as she placed her open mouth over the tip to smother it with her hot breath, then she closed her lips and, with hollowed cheeks, took me to the top of her throat and sucked long and gently while humming softly. She cast a sidelong glance at the mirror above her dresser – as if to check a fine point of technique, but probably just to satisfy a prurient curious impulse – and took several plunges as my rod poked at her glottal obstruction. I moaned with pleasure and raised my hips off the sheets, causing her to gag once, but with a few head twists and copious saliva she let me pass into her throat, a bit more each time her distended lips approached my groin. She then interlaced her fingers and – that part of me that was outside of her mouth – she began jacking with both hands, which felt amazingly like a muscular vagina clutching at my tumescent staff.

After a while she pulled off of me to relax her jaw. “You like that, huh, sweetie,” she gasped, catching her breath and moving from between my legs, her hands tugging at me the whole time.

She looked again at me in the mirror and – slipping her hot lips down over my stiffness – scooted her lower body up to me, a quarter-turn on her knees to straddle my chest, there to resume her oral labors.

Though I’d eaten and fucked her a half-hour earlier, at that moment it was as if I’d never truly studied her gorgeous saddle. With gentle, loving hands I stroked the silken globes of her creamy ass with wonder, pulling them apart to reveal the perfect, pink asterisk of her rectum, moist with a clear fluid that seemed to leak from her bowels. Below it lay the succulent, plump mound of her pussy, now slightly split apart to reveal the crinkly pink folds of her inner labia that I’d earlier probed so roughly.

By this time Cam was working on me with a vengeance, throating me almost in desperation, and hyperventilating as she did so. I’d made an unfair bet with her. Given the fact that I’d cum earlier, I could now last for at least an hour before doing so again.

Devilishly, I licked at her asshole, causing her to pull off of me and gasp, “Ohhh, honey, yesss!” I was as surprised as she was, since she’d obviously inserted some strawberry lube up her rectum. I gripped her firm buttocks hard, pulled them apart, and drove my stiffened tongue deeply into her colon, twisting it in circles to ream out its artificial sweetness, which made her cry out, raise upright and nearly forget what she’d been doing to me.

“Naughty girl!” I admonished between pokes of my tongue. “You must’ve known I love strawberries,” I muttered quietly, returning to rimming her tasty asshole.

“Oooh, baby, I had an enema…to get all clean for you,” she squeaked, as she returned to jacking and sucking me.

I’d won the bet, and now lengthened my licks to include Cam’s pussy. She’d obviously taken a douche as well, my taste buds told me. I thrust my stiff tongue forward, feeling her clit, and flicked at it repeatedly until she began groaning and jerking. I stopped, teasingly, then dragged my tongue back to her vaginal opening then up to her ass, twirling it in circles and lathering her with as much saliva as I could muster. At this point Cam abandoned using her hands on my dick and reached behind herself to spread her butt more widely as she noisily thrust her mouth and throat down onto me.

“Mmmnngh, you love it, don’t you, you nasty little thing,” I teased, as I broadened my tongue to lap at her from clit to rectum. “You’ve been shaking that succulent ass at me for years, hoping I’d nail it, huh!” Cam’s groans became louder as her head bobbed up and down faster on my cock. “You want me to fuck you in the ass, Cammie? You want me to fill you up back here?” I questioned torturously, sliding a thumb slowly into her asshole and stirring it around.

“Mmm-hmmmph!” she grunted, her mouth full of my rigid staff.

“Okay,” I said good-naturedly, but then returned to her clit. I sensed that she was just seconds away from an orgasm – perhaps a minute – and felt greedy in wanting to stimulate another one. With my thumb still embedded in her, I pulled her back closer to my face and pushed down on her waist. Her back arched even more, and her swollen, red clitoris now pulsed with blood before my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I stuck my nose into her pussy and flicked my tongue at her little nubbin until she started thrashing and losing all composure. Then I gripped her hips in my arms, immobilizing her, and nibbled at her clit with my lips as she pulled off my cock and started screaming my name.

“Shaun…Shaun…Shaun…Shaun…Shaun!” she shouted in total hysteria as her body launched into a chain of paroxysms. Her head fell to the bed between my legs, leaving my stiff member to wave in the air, as the muscles in her body continually contracted and relaxed by turns as if she’d been electrocuted. She groaned loudly for a half-minute, then moaned quietly for another thirty seconds as she kissed the inside of one of my legs, then mewled softly as I climbed out from under her, leaving her still on her knees and shoulders with her ass in the air.

Kneeling behind her, I stroked her elevated buns and probed gently at her puckered rectum. Breathlessly, she gasped a request, “Ohhh, Shaun honey, please use some jelly…in the drawer. Gimme the dildo, too…please!”

I pulled the lube from the drawer as well as a dildo, one of several stored there. As I squeezed a liberal amount of gel onto my prick and Cam’s anus, I studied the toy for a moment. It was about eight inches in length, with an on-off dial to activate a vibrating function, and was covered with dozens of very short, stiff, plastic protrusions, obviously meant to stimulate female orifices.

I handed it to her, somewhat surprised at the fact that she’d apparently kept the sex toys that her ex-husband had bought, as I nestled my glans into her nether opening. She was breathing heavily again, still excited from her previous orgasm, and whining as I gripped her hips and assumed the canine position to enter her. “Ooohh!” she cooed in anticipation as the head of my cock slipped past her anal sphincter. “Do me nice an’ slow, baby…slow ‘n’ deeeep,” she murmured, rising to brace herself on one hand while with the other she carefully inserted the pink, spiny dildo into her pussy. “Unh-uunnhhh!” she exhaled as both the toy and my fleshy probe drove to the maximum depth in her body. “Unh-uunnhhh!” she repeated, as I stroked again into her bowels. Then, she said, “Look at us, honey…in the mirror.”

I looked and saw her watching me gore her from behind, with a vacant though blissful smile on her face. Her jaw was slack and her heavy-lidded gray eyes occasionally would turn blank as they rolled up in her skull while she thrust her backside against me. “You like to watch yourself fuck, huh,” I grunted.

“Nnnghh, I like…to watch…you fuck me,” she mewled. “I love to…hear…smell…taste you…fucking me,” she crooned as her tight colon gripped my cock and we sped our pace.

“Such a dirty little girl you are,” I whispered, half-seriously, reaching down and turning on the vibrating toy sunk into her snatch.

“Ooohhh…I knowww. I’m jus’…awwfuuul,” she whimpered, as the buzzing dildo caused her elbows to weaken so that she dropped her head and shoulders to the bed and began moaning incessantly, so much that my priapic mood was broken. It was time for me to cum again.

I eased to my feet while still embedded in Cam, standing flat-footed on the bed and crouched behind her, with the intent of bringing us both to a blinding climax. She sensed this and reached between her legs to manipulate the dildo as well as her clitoris. I reached forward and held her shoulders, using them like some rough beast to bring her entire body back onto my rampaging prong. We fucked this way for five minutes – watching ourselves in her mirror – while we blistered the paint from the walls with our screams and shouts.

Our simultaneous orgasm was cosmic. I thought that I’d never stop rocketing cum into Cam’s ass. For her part, she trembled and twitched for a full minute, finally collapsing onto the bed with me still inside her. When our senses returned, she reached down and pulled the dildo from her cunt, tossing it aside. And when our breathing returned to normal, I reached over and shut the buzzing thing off. All was quiet as I lay on her, heavily.

I was briefly awakened from a slumber by her movements and kisses. She slid over and switched off the lamp on the nightstand. “Jeezus,” she murmured, “you’re an incredible lover,” and scooted back to me, spooning her body into mine.

“I was just thinking the same of you,” I whispered in her ear, gathering her in my arms, palming her fleshy breasts softly and nestling my dick into her silken butt crack.

We lay quietly for several minutes as I started to doze off, then Cam spoke to me in the dark. “Shaun, did you really used to fuck underage girls?”

“Of course not!” I exclaimed, raising up on one elbow. “Where did you hear that?”

“Well, Sherri told me about a little Mexican girl she saw at your place one time…a real beauty…said she looked about fifteen.”

“Her name was Carlita, she’s Chilean, and now is about twenty-four. She went to Hollywood a couple of years ago, changed her name, and is playing in a TV series now,” I said. “Sherri was just imagining things.” But she was probably jealous, as most women were of the little Latina bombshell, I remembered. I’d always have the sweetest memories of Carlita – who looked shy of 18 but was 20 at the time – and her boundless sexual energy.

“Well, Sherri’s always been sensitive about kids having sex, and for good reason. Did you know she was abused by a pair of foster parents? It went on for ten or twelve years.”

“No.” I wasn’t surprised, though, since my physical experiences with Sherri had always had a perverse undertone to them. It seemed reasonable that she’d had an unconventional – if not traumatic – early sexual background. “Why bring Sherri up, all of a sudden?”

“Well, she’s stayed in touch with me. In fact, I got an e-mail from her on Wednesday. She asked if I’d seen you recently.”


“I told her we’d run into one another.”

“That’s all?” I asked.

“On Wednesday that’s all I
could tell her. You and I hadn’t even had lunch yet.”

“Well, c’mere, sweetheart,” I said, running my hand down across Cam’s smooth vulva and swiping one finger up across her clit. “Let’s get back to what we were doing, so that next time she writes you’ll have lots of sexy things to tell her.”

“Oooh, Shaun, you’re such a dirty, dirty boy,” she moaned, turning her face up toward me and giving me a tongue-lashing kiss as I continued to masturbate her. “Do you like…how I feel?” she asked in a halting, breathless voice.

“What? Your pussy? Oh yeah, nice and smooth.”

“Good, ‘cuz I had it waxed…this afternoon just before I saw you, hoping…we’d end up like this.” She then moaned as I lifted her top leg and stirred my hardening cock into the moist petals of her slit. As my dick’s crown entered her wetness, she whined, “Gaawwd, honey, I’ve never felt like this with any man.”

I issued a male grunt as my ego was satisfied, and Cam raised her leg to lock it behind the knee of my upper leg to push her magnificent ass back into my lower belly. I held her in place by gripping her breasts and punishing her nipples with fingers and thumbs as she again thrashed toward a physical frenzy. In this position my cock abraded her G-spot as we fucked, causing an unbroken chorus of soprano lamentations to echo from her mouth. Along with everything else, Cam expressed her passion extremely vocally, and – though relatively submissive – she wasn’t bashful about demanding what brought her pleasure.

“Nnngghh…Gawd, Shaun…that’s it…fuck me hard! Harder…harder…harder!” she exhorted in a throaty voice. “Gawd, I love it! I love it! I love it!” she shrieked, immediately approaching yet another orgasm. It came, quickly, after I abandoned one of her breasts to reach down and strum her engorged clit. And once again she thrust back against me to absorb my prick to its base, there to squeeze the rampant organ dozens of times with her phenomenal internal muscles as she whined like a stricken animal for a couple of minutes. When she came down from her peak and entered a tender afterglow, she mumbled, “Yeeaahh…oh, yeeaahh. Nnnnggh. Mmmm. Gawwd. Mmm…can we…can we sleep for a while now, baby? You’ve totally wiped me out.”

I awoke at about dawn with Cam lying on my chest, dead to the world. Her head lay on my shoulder with her face toward me, smelling of the sweet and sour vapors of sex. The nexus of her legs was above my groin, and my early morning hormones were stirring at the feel of her, rapidly prompting a predictable erection. I raised my head and kissed her lightly, causing her to stir, groan, stretch and smile sleepily at me. “Mornin’, sunshine!” I whispered.

September 2018
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