older man

The spring concert was scheduled to start at 7 at the high school auditorium. Allison had texted him saying she had to be there at 6:30 to line up. Christopher had responded by telling him to meet her outside the high school behind the auditorium at 6, saying he had a special gift for her that he wanted her to wear during the concert.



Alison opened the unmarked steel door, letting herself out into the cool night air. The auditorium was hot already and only going to get hotter, and the change of temperature was refreshing. Closing it carefully behind her, glancing to make sure no one was paying attention, she stood in the dusk light, the distant lamp lights starting to turn on. Alison was dressed in a white dress, contrasting with her dark skin and hair, of modest length and fit, just the sort of plain thing expected of a good high school girl. She wondered what Christopher had for her … she knew it would be something deviant … he wasn’t the type to bring her a rose or a bracelet or something. She found her heart racing already at the surprise.



Christopher had been leaning against the car door waiting for Allison to appear. He laughed quietly to himself after he felt that familiar rush of anticipation in his veins. The effect Allison had on him was nearly indescribable. To this point he had stayed away from the school, but now that he was here in the parking lot it brought a combination of nostalgia with a perverse excitement. When he was with Alison she always had a maturity about her that belied her age. Her body definitely looked her age. He saw the heavy door open and Alison appear, looking stunning in a simple white dress – virgin white, he thought, ironically. He saw her looking around the parking lot. “Alison,” he said quietly.



Alison turned her head at the sound of his voice, her eyes finally finding him. Stepping carefully away from the door, she glanced around one more time for onlookers before hurrying over to him, her shoes tapping against the pavement. This felt surreal, the collision of her two worlds she usually kept so far apart. When she was in his shop she no longer felt like a schoolgirl. Here, rushing to this older man’s car she couldn’t feel like anything else. “Hey.”



“Kiss me on the cheek like an uncle,” he said, putting his hands lightly on her hips. He loved her hips, the way they looked and felt under his hands as she rode him, or as he thrust into her hard from behind. He made sure she was close enough to feel his already semi-erect cock through the pants of his lightweight spring suit. “You look lovely Alison,” he said when he felt her cheek against hers. “Get in the car.”



She leaned up on her tip toes and brushed her lips on his cheek, taking in his whispered words. Despite not knowing what was running through his mind, hers was thinking of nearly the same things at the touch of his hands on her. They had never touched anywhere but in the private of the shop and since that first day there had never been any pretense to it. Now he touched her casually yet all she could think of was this way his strong hands would direct her in his shop, into his fetish wear, into his bindings, or him into her. She pulled herself away from him quickly, unsure how much she could control herself under his touch and did what he said, sliding silently into his passenger seat.



He smiled at her sitting next to him in the front seat. “You’re wet already, aren’t you Alison. I can tell just by your eyes, did you know that? And I know that when you reach your between your legs right now and pull your panties aside and put your finger there and bring it up to show me, it will be wet, won’t it.” He put his hand on her bare tan thigh. Her skin was flawless, her eyes dark and intense -stunning without an ounce of makeup on.



Inside the car, despite how potentially exposed they were, it felt private once again, his proximity whisking her away to that dark hole she entered on that first day in his shop. At the first touch of his hand on her thigh, insistent and strong, her legs spread, her dress riding up further. Anyone looking would be shocked to see this young girl and this man like this, but Allison only added to the sight, slipping her hand immediately between her legs and tugging at the band of her panties, tugging it to the side to expose her dark bush.



Her core was wet, indeed. “Yes, Christopher,” she said, and she plunged a finger eagerly inside herself as she said it, as if the words themselves gave her pleasure. She closed her eyes and fingered herself once, twice, three times, hard and deep before pulling her finger out with a gasp and showing it to him, her chest heaving.



“Give me a taste and then clean the rest off yourself,” he said. Her enthusiasm and her inhibition mixed with the sight and scent of her pussy juice on her finger brought his cock to a throbbing erection. “Good girl Alison,” he said. This was a first, sitting here in his car. That it was right in the parking lot of the elite private high school made it that much more intoxicating. Out of the corner of his eye he could see cars driving in, hear the sounds of doors opening and closing and quiet chatter. “Give it to me,” he said, his hand squeezing her thigh.



Alison thrust her hand forward with a moan, clearly aroused, rubbing her fingertip against his lips while staring into his eyes. It was as if after weeks of letting this man do as he pleased with her, they had brought it to another level. Even these simple things which would be only a prelude at the shop were immeasurably kinkier here in her school parking lot, nearly in public. She thrust the finger into her mouth and sucked eagerly at it, her breath coming quickly through her nose as she thought what her peers, the parents, the staff would think of this.



He wasn’t exactly sure why, whether it was her diet, her age, her genes, her athletic conditioning, or some random combination of them all, but she simply had the sweetest tasting pussy he had ever tasted in his life. He thought at times it actually had a fruited scent to it. He had always enjoyed giving oral sex before, and knew he was good at it, but Alison’s taste was so addictive that in his shop one afternoon when she had left school early, he kept her tied up in various positions for nearly two hours, during which time he licked her pussy incessantly. She had cum ten times at least before he had stopped counting. She seemed to love the taste of herself as well, and he loved watching her do it. “I have a gift for you,” he said, and reached behind her seat and lifted a small gift bag.



Allison remembered the first time he had her taste her own juices, how devious and disgusting it had seemed. That seemed a dim memory, hard to imagine and believe. She now knew the taste of her own pussy on her fingers, his fingers, on his cock, on his toys. Once he had smeared her face with it until she could smell nothing else. Today she sucked the juice from her finger and dropped her hands in her lap, watching him with the mixture of trepidation and excitement she felt every time they were together, never knowing what knew thing he was going to do to her. “What is it?” she asked, reaching to take it from him.



He pulled it away immediately. “Uh, uh” he said. “You’ll get your gift after I get mine.”



Allison drew her hands back in surprise, the desire to please him, to not disappoint him, so ingrained in her now. “Your gift,” she said, unsure.



“Yes. Your mouth on my cock. Stop before I cum, because you’re going to climb on my lap right here in the car and I’m going to fuck you in the parking lot of your high school. Then you’ll get your gift.”



Allison moaned involuntarily, as she often did just to the sound of his dirty talk. No one in her life had ever spoken like that, though she secretly longed to hear all those words. The fact that she knew he was deadly serious only made it more delicious. Allison looked down to his crotch, seeing how hard he was already. She concentrated on working down his zipper, the car quickly growing hotter from their two bodies. She had seen this sort of scene in a dozen movies and now it was going to be her, sucking off her lover in a parked car. Allison slid her slim hand inside his pants, looking up at him as she fished out the shaft.



He shifted his weight in his seat, angling himself so that he was more easily accessible to her. He would never admit this to her, ever, but there were times when he was genuinely surprised at how easily she obeyed him. The few times when she didn’t, it seemed to be only so that he could give her a little punishment: an extra hard tug of her hair, or spank on her buttocks, or perhaps denying her orgasm. Yet there was no denying this connection they had, a near perfect balance. He could smell her sex in the confines of the car, and it occurred to him that someone might even see the windows fogging in the dusk and wonder at what was going on inside, or even know what was going on, but never would they expect it to be the valedictorian and a much older owner of the local sex shop.



How completely unbelievable it was, that was their protection, of sorts. No one that knew Allison would even believe she was having sex, never mind that she would let a grown man spank her, or put a dildo in her mouth. Or that right now before her concert she was leaning over the console and expertly taking the man’s cock in her mouth. She sucked it into her mouth, none of the hesitation or awkwardness of those first days. Her lips slid down the shaft, her tongue working underneath it and she quickly began to bob up and down on the most sensitive stretch of shaft, feeling in his urgent hardness how ready for this he was.



She was a quick study. In a short time she had found the rhythm and motions that could either bring him off quickly, or tease him for as long as he could stand it. Her mouth was hot, and her fingers were strong as she stroked him. He reached over and slid her dress up over her waist and gave her ass a quick firm swat. It sounded different here in his car than it did in the shop. Normally he might reach behind her and start to rub her pussy or slide a finger into it, but not tonight. He slid his hand over her perfect muscular buttocks and found her tiny tight asshole and without rimming it, pushed the tip of his middle finger against it, feeling it give, and sensing the slightest hesitation of her rhythm on his cock as she felt it.



Allison felt him tug her dress up and knew that her ass, her panties pulled to one side, was on display. If someone wandered by and glanced inside the foggy window they would see it lifted up in the air for them. The idea terrified her, but at the same time it gave her a lurid thrill. She knew that if Christopher wanted to put her on display for others, she would let him. That thought made her suck his dick even more eagerly, turned on by her own wantonness.



Only the sudden touch and thrust of his finger distracted her. She lost her rhythm on his cock, holding it in her mouth but forgetting to suck. He had played with her ass once or twice, and she had not denied him. She couldn’t deny him anything. But her body tensed, twisting a bit in discomfort, the air in the car suddenly heavier.



Despite the intense pleasure he was receiving from her mouth on his cock, and his finger exploring her ass, Christopher coolly looked at the clock on the dashboard. The valedictorian, the star athlete, the pride of the school, would never be late for a chorus concert. He was tempted to cum in her mouth, but for the gift to be inserted properly it would help if she rode him first. He put his hand on the back of her head, grabbed a handful of hair, and held her bobbing head still. “Time to fuck,” he said.



Allison’s body tensed as his finger first thrust inside her asshole. The strange sensation of being invaded there combined with the perversion of knowing it was made possible by her own pussy juices soaking his finger. She now found herself double penetrated for the first time, the new sensation of his finger so much deeper than he’d ever dared combining with the sensation of both his cock and finger thrusting into her each time she drove down. She was in control, despite the unexpected intrusion, and it was her own muscular legs which drove her body up and down, impaling herself on both. She felt her chest tightening, her nipples burning, the guttural sounds coming from her throat as her clenched, tight body rode him harder and harder.



She didn’t even flinch at the feeling of his finger deep inside her ass, he thought. She was enjoying the feeling as much as he was, and it was that raw desire inside her, limitless, he thought, that so turned him on. He glanced at the clock again, calculated how much time was left until the concert began, thought about the gift he still had to give her. He needed to ask her just one question, and listen to her reply, the answer to which he knew would push him over the edge. He whispered in her ear, the scent of her hair strong, “Do you love the feeling of my finger deep in your ass Alison?”



Allison had forgotten the clock, the concert, and was too drawn into herself to notice the movement of his eyes. How could she notice that when there was so much happening down below. Her virgin asshole quivered around the intruder, grasping at his finger in spasms. Yet at the same time his cock drove up into her, either one more than enough to drive her to distraction on its own. There was no question about her response, despite the discomfort and the dirtiness of it. “Yes, I do,” she moaned back into his ear, her strong thighs gripping him even tighter, her ass rock hard as she rode him with all her strength.



To make her late for the concert would stir suspicion in everyone around here. What could possibly make Alison, the valedictorian, late for a concert? Knowing Alison, and though she never said anything to him about it, she probably even had a solo. He would make certain they both came and that she would have time to open the present. Hearing her acknowledge that she enjoyed having her ass finger fucked did it for him.



With his free hand he grabbed her hard buttock and slapped it twice, and then dug his fingertips into her flesh. “That’s my good girl,” he said, and in his mind spotted his orgasm building in his balls. “We’re going to have a lot of fun with that tight ass of yours,” he whispered hotly in her ear.



Allison could hear the rough growl in his voice, the animalistic way he slapped and grabbed at her tight ass. And she knew she loved it, for some reason she couldn’t understand, but cared less and less about, she loved the idea of him treating her as something to grope and grab and fuck, the way when the passion mounted there were no limits but only hands and skin and sweat and the rough banging of bodies into each other. Allison rocked her hips back and forth crazily, forcing his cock in her with each forward thrust, and his finger in her with the backward. There was no more up and down her pelvis crushed tight to his and only this frantic fucking as she came.



He loved the way she never held back. Ever. He guessed she attacked every other part of her life with this much enthusiasm, and for a moment he again wondered what she looked like on the soccer field, and he made a note to meet her here again after one of her games, and fuck her in the car, or maybe in the woods, hands all over with her sweaty body and her uniform around her shin pads and cleats. Now, though, he concentrated on his finger in her ass, her tight pussy gripping and milking his cock, the shaking of her hips signaling her orgasm, and he didn’t hold back any longer. He thrust upward hard and felt himself release his load up into her. He could tell by her intensity that she could keep fucking for a few more hours, but he needed to give her the gift. He waited until she slowed her hips, signaling his intention with his free hand back and her hip and whispered again, “That’s my good pet. For that you may now open your present.”



Allison moaned in a bit of frustration as she felt him thrust upward and stop, her own body continuing to grind and grind atop him until his hands guided her to a stop. Her body was covered in a coat of sweat underneath her clothing and she was sure she stank of sex. She sat resting her weight on him, trembling as he spoke of her present. She had forgotten it, could hardly concentrate on it as the spike of pleasure fooled with the chemicals in her brain, her hair plastered to her face. “What is it?” she asked, dazed.



He felt her pussy still spasming around his cock, and smelled their sex together and realized that they had fogged the windows. He reached over to the passenger seat and took the silver butt plug still in its gift box and handed it to her. Her breath smelled like her pussy mixed with a faint scent of something she had been using to sooth her throat for singing. “I know you’re going to love it,” he said, watching her rip the paper off it.



Allison sat back a bit, her ass pressing down on his lap, feeling his cock softening, slowly slipping out of her. Her head nearly touched the roof of the car, and so she hunched over, taking the box in her hands. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her breathing still fast and loud. But with calm fingers she undid the paper and opened it up. She sat staring at shock at the butt plug. She knew what it was, though she thought she probably should not, but she glanced up at him with dark eyes and a silent face, biting at her lip.



For a moment he ridiculously thought she might not know what it was, but then realized given everything else she’d seen and touched and used in his shop she surely would know what it was, and the look in her eyes immediately confirmed it. “You’re to wear it during your concert,” he said simply. “We’ll put it in now.”



A good girl, in this day and age, shouldn’t let a man boss her around like that. But there was no malice in his voice, and it was because he knew as well as she did that she wanted him to direct her. She wanted him to show her things he had only dared imagine. She stared back down at the plug, at how much wider it was than his finger and couldn’t imagine what this would be like going in, let alone staying there. She nodded, but he could feel her tremble a bit there at the edge.



He put his large hand over hers still on the butt plug and started to lower their hands together in the canyon between their bodies. “Lift your hips … we’re going to get it wet from our juices mixed together,” he said, guiding it down past her flat stomach toward her pussy.



Allison did as he said, raising herself up off of him, letting their hands slide together in the hot wet space between their bodies. She felt the plug brush along her swollen dark lips and moaned, her need insatiable it seemed to her, despite all she’d discovered with him.



The sound of the plug against her wetness reminded him of the sounder her fingers made when he made her masturbate for him. When he was satisfied it was wet enough, he took her hand, still on the plug, and brought it around behind her. “Lean forward and arch your back,” he said matter-of- factly,”and we’ll slide it in slowly.”



Allison could feel it collecting her nectar as they slid the plug back and forth along her lips. She knew it would be wet, sticky and fragrant with her smell as he shifted it behind her. Leaning forward she pressed her body into his in the small car, arching her back expertly, despite her youth a master of her body. She felt how it opened her up back there, exposed her, and he could feel her hand trembling in his.



He wasn’t about to tell her this now, but he knew from his own experience how the next 10 seconds would feel, and the two hours after. He enjoyed the thought of how much this would test her concentration skills, standing with her school chorus with a butt plug under her skirt, in front of hundreds of people in the auditorium, including him. The thought of it, and the way she was leaning into him, her ass up waiting for the plug, was bringing his cock back to life. He could feel her hand shaking under his. He held the tip to her little hole and pressed until he felt some resistance. He didn’t wait to ask if she was ready, just kept pushing slowly upward and inward, and glanced at the clock: 6:24.

Author’s note: This is just a story. Not a true one, though I wish it were. My thanks to my friend who has carefully edited for me.



This story was rejected by Literotica the first time I submitted it, on the spurious grounds that underage sex was portrayed. This is the about the fiftieth story I have posted to Lit in well over five years, and the first that has been rejected for any reason. I am not stupid enough to submit a story which contains reason for rejection.



As is made crystal clear in the story (in dialogue, a more natural way of the reader gaining knowledge than tedious backstory), the girl Sandra is over 18, has left school, and is about to start a degree in Chemical Engineering at Strathclyde University.



So, for the benefit of the Literotica editors who chose to reject this story without reading it carefully:



ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARE EIGHTEEN (18) YEARS OLD OR OVER.




*****



He’d seen the camp before, often, from the adjacent A814.This was his first visit, though it had been there for thirty years. Following his son, he wheeled his bike over the rough path through soaking undergrowth and trees towards the dishevelled ensemble of caravans and huts in the clearing. The lad turned and smiled:



- Well, here it is dad. You did well to keep up with me. I know it’s a long time since you last cycled that far.



- I’m just glad we’re here. My poor old muscles aren’t used to this treatment any more. Nor — he panted — are my lungs.



They’d only ridden twenty-five miles, but in the humid still air after the thunderstorm, it had felt a lot further. His son propped his bike against the largest van and was talking to a lanky young man with a shaved head, his arms covered in tattoos:



- Dad, this is my pal James.



He’d heard a lot about James. The older lad seemed to have become something of a mentor for his son; a mentor in arcane anarchist theory. Sandy really didn’t approve, but he knew his boy. Michael could only ever learn the hard way. He’d grow out of the anarchism in time. Sandy hoped. He propped his bike against the aluminium side of the van and stretched out his hand to James:



- Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.



- I’m glad you decided to come. I know you’re an old peace campaigner, but Mike says you’ve never visited the camp before?



- No. I’ve passed it many times; lots of demonstrations have begun or ended at the gates to the base, but this is my first visit here. Michael was very insistent that I see it and get to know you all.



- In you come, man, everyone wants to meet you. The food’s nearly ready. Want a beer after your ride? You look like you could do with one.



- A beer would be great, thanks.



There were eight other people in the van. Four men and four women, none a day over thirty. Sandy felt a bit out of place, conscious of every one of his years. And his aching muscles. James called out as he entered:



- Comrades, this is Sandy, Mike’s dad. Someone get him a beer please, he’s cycled here from Glasgow.



A girl, the youngest in the van he thought, lifted a can of Stella from a case next to her and handed it to him:



- Hi Sandy. You deserve a beer for cycling to join us. Mike’s told us a lot about you. We don’t get many peace movement veterans here. Welcome. I’m Sandra.



She was still a teenager, slight body, long unkempt red hair, a loose peasant dress that wouldn’t have been out of place on a hippy from his youth in the sixties. And a delightfully open smile.



- Thanks Sandra.



He would have said more, but Michael tapped his shoulder as he raised the can to his lips:



- There’s lamb stew or veggie stew dad, which are you for tonight?



Sandy smiled. His son was a strict veggie, but never tried to proselytise.



- Lamb sounds good, thanks. I’m a bit surprised meat-eaters are indulged here?



- Only since Sandra joined the camp.



Presently they were all eating. Most of them had their plates balanced on their knees, but Sandra had insisted that Sandy sat beside her at the small table:



- We don’t often get such a distinguished older visitor.



He laughed:



- Well lass, it’s some time since anyone called me distinguished!



- Ach, nae false modesty man, Mike’s told us all about you. He’s very proud of you. Said you were at the first demo against the US Polaris base at the Holy Loch?



- Aye, that’s true. I was fourteen, over fifty years ago. It was my first step into political activism. Quite a baptism. It made its mark on me; I can still get my tongue round some of the songs. The US Polaris base inspired a wheen of good songs.



- Maybe you can sing some for us after the meal? James is a mean guitarist.



- Maybe I could. This stew’s delicious. Just as it should be, plenty of rosemary and mint, the proper Scots way. Did you make it?



- Aye, I don’t have many skills, but my dad taught me to cook.



Sandy ate reflectively, glancing round at the gathering of young peace campaigners. Michael was deep in discussion with James. But Sandra had become the focus of his attention. She was young, vivacious, and incredibly attractive. Far too young to have any interest in him, he knew. Sighing, he mopped the remaining gravy from his plate with a slice of wholemeal bread and leaned back, draining the last of the lager from his can. Sandra took the empty can from him, dropped it in the recycling bin:



- Could you manage another? Wet yer whistle so you can sing for us?



- Is the Pope a Catholic?



Smiling, she handed him another Stella, then announced to the gathering:



- Eat up folk. Sandy’s agreed to teach us some sixties peace songs after we’ve finished our food.



Michael smiled:



- That’s great dad. Can you start with ‘The Glasgow Eskimos’?



- I’m not so sure that’s very politically correct nowadays…



- Aye, I know. But that’s what Lanin called them, isn’t it? I don’t think the term ‘Inuits’ was widely used in the early sixties?



One of the women raised her brows:



- Stop talking in riddles, Mike. Who was Lanin?



- I think he was the captain of the Polaris mother ship, wasn’t he dad?



- Aye. He was captain of the USS ‘Proteus’. — Sandy raised his voice a wee bit, so all could hear him — When Proteus first arrived in the Holy Loch, it was buzzed by a number of campaigners in kayaks. Lanin was quoted in the papers as saying they were a bunch of Eskimos. Likely he considered that to be a derogatory term. The campaigners took it as a compliment, and three co-wrote the song. It really caught on, became the national anthem of the peace movement in Scotland.



James stood up:



- Right folks, since we’ve all eaten, I think it’s time Sandy let us hear this song. Those on the dishwashing rota tonight can delay dealing with clearing up till after we’ve listened. Ready Sandy? Want an accompaniment?



He reached for his guitar, fiddled with the tuning.



- OK folk, ‘The Glasgow Eskimos’. It’s set to ‘Marching Through Georgia’, James, and I think I usually sing it in G. Give me a chord please?



- Sure.



The chord silenced the murmur of chatter. Sandy cleared his throat:



- Like any good folksong, it has a chorus. It goes: – Hello, hello, we are the Eskimos/Hello, hello, the Glesga Eskimos/We’ll gaff that nyaff ca’d Lanin/And we’ll spear him whaur he blows/For we are the Glesga Eskimos/. So give it a try please comrades.



By the time he’d sung the chorus a couple of times, most of the gathering had joined in. He noticed Sandra had a harmony line. At the end of the rendition, the final chorus might have raised the roof of the van had it not been welded on. A babble of voices erupted as the last guitar chords faded.



By the end of the evening, Sandy had been coaxed to produce every peace song he could remember, and a few more Scots folksongs. The air was thick with the fug of weed and tobacco. A downpour drummed the roof of the van. He was very aware that Sandra’s thigh had been pressing ever harder against his as the evening progressed, and her hand sometimes brushed against him. As folk began dispersing to their various sleeping quarters, she whispered, her lips and tongue brushing his ear:



- Did you bring a tent?



- Aye, Michael said sleeping places were at a premium till the new van arrives?



She nodded at the thrumming roof:



- It’s not a night for messing about with tents Sandy. You’d better sleep in my wee van. Besides — she shivered and clutched his arm as lightning illuminated the trees outside, followed immediately by a roll of thunder – I really don’t like being in storms on my own.



Her words electrified Sandy. His hand went to her thigh, squeezed gently:



- Well lassie, maybe I’d better keep you company. I’d feel bad snuggled in my tent, knowing the storm was keeping you awake. Lead on, please.



Michael and James had disappeared, as had some of the others. Those remaining were busy unrolling sleeping bags. He swallowed a wee blue pill, gulped the last of his beer, and bade them goodnight. Shrugging on his goretex jacket, he followed the elfin young woman out into the storm. She had no rainwear, and was soaked during the short stumble through trees and undergrowth. Her home was an ancient and decrepit Ford Transit, not a camper, just a plain once-white van. She opened the back doors, shivering:



- Welcome to my humble abode, Sandy.



Her wet arms went round his neck, and he trembled in excitement as her lips met his:



- And just so we’re both absolutely clear, Sandy, though I’m now wet all over, my cunt’s dripping for you. I really need a hard dirty fuck. I’m so glad you’re here to give me it. But before we get inside, I need to pee. Can’t be bothered going to the toilet. Besides, I want you to watch me. Shine the torch on me.



She lifted the peasant dress from her body and stood before him in the glow of his light. Naked. Utterly gorgeous; small firm tits with prominent nipples, the tiniest wee hint of a belly. Slim hips, muscled legs. And a flaming red thatch at her groin. He watched transfixed as she crouched slightly to pee, legs wide apart, and the stream of urine gushed from her urethra onto the muddy ground. She didn’t make any attempt to wipe her cunt. Smiled wickedly:



- I hope you don’t mind that I’m hairy. I know it’s unfashionable now, but I prefer to be natural. Now, you need to piss too. Point the torch at your cock. I want to help you.



- Natural’s a delight. I wouldn’t want you any other way.



He gasped as she fumbled to extract his erect cock, pulsing in need, and held it firmly:



- Piss for me Sandy. Piss for the wee slut you need to fuck.



Jesus, he couldn’t remember when he was last as excited. Well, he could, it had been nearly two years previously, his last time with his ex. The fountain of piss sprayed up in the air, and as it slowed to a dribble, the girl bent down and took him in her mouth, drinking the last of his offering. She looked up at his surprised face:



- You’ve no idea what a depraved slut you have on your hands, Sandy. Now let’s get in. I need this in my cunt. Try to keep your wet clothes off the bed though, it’ll get damp enough without that.



And she slithered into the van, pulled a towel from a hook, and began drying her hair and body. But not, he noted, between her legs. Sandy clambered into the vehicle, and she nodded at a clothes-hanger on a hook by the back doors:



- Hang your jacket and anything else wet there man, there’s a drip tray under it.



He did as he was bade, and began undressing. The wavering torchlight showed him a mattress with double sleeping bag occupying nearly the whole of the floor, a shelf of books and CDs against the side of the van with a narrow cupboard below, clothes hanging neatly on hangers. She was a tidy lassie, he thought, approvingly. Her enticing naked form slipped forward, and he directed the torch on her arse.



- Like what you see Sandy? It’s all yours. I’ve never had a cock up my bum before. But I might want yours.



She was lighting candles and incense sticks on fixtures on the sides of the van. He was uncertain what he should say. But, damn it, she’d made clear what she wanted:



- You’re an utter delight Sandra. I can’t wait to fuck that pretty cunt. And your arse looks like heaven.



- I hope you’ll find that I’m tight. Very dirty. And very, very needy. I haven’t had a fuck in months. I went on the pill to come here, expecting sexual adventures galore. But I’ve had nothing at all. Now, come and join me. Please.



Lightning flashed through the windscreen as she slipped on top of the sleeping bag. Thunder boomed, Sandy moved beside her, and for the first time held her naked form to his slim body:



- Fuck, lassie, you’re just gorgeous. This is the last thing I expected to find here; a needy young wench wanting fucked by a man old enough to be her grandfather. How old are you? And before we fuck, tell me a bit about Sandra?



She snuggled into him, stroking his cock as his lips explored her face, his hands searching her everywhere:



- I grew up in the West End of Glasgow, professional family. I’m an only child. Dad’s a lawyer, mum’s a teacher. Both on the left but not activists. They took me on a few demos, never drummed their politics into me. But I got the message. I’ve just left school, and decided to spend the summer here before I start Uni. I’m nearly nineteen.



She gasped as his loving fingers finally entered her wet cunt:



- Jesus Sandy, I so need this. I… uhhh… I’ve never been with an older man, but when I heard Mike talking, I did wonder about you. And when I saw you this evening… uhh, ohfuckman, do that again… I wanted you in my cunt. Does that make me a bad girl?



- It makes you a very bad lassie. But with good taste in men.



- Oh indeed. So you’re modest too?



Her giggles dissolved as he moved down her body, sucking her nipples, fingering her cunt. His head moved again, licking and kissing, down over her belly till he reached the aromatic tangle of her pubes:



- Need to smell you and taste you lassie.



He breathed her arousal, head dipping between her legs, lapping her thighs, savouring, teasing. It had been a very long time since he’d been with a woman this young, and it might never happen again. His fingers played with her nipples as his tongue and lips explored her groin, careful not to touch her clit. Not yet.



- Lick my cunt you old bastard. This wee slut needs to cum.



- If we were in my bed now, I have lots of toys I’d love to tease you with. For now, we’ll need to make do with my fingers and mouth. Part your legs wider, slut. Raise your knees to your chest and hold them there whilst I examine what I’m going to fuck. Do as you’re told.



She shivered. Something in his tone had changed. She had to obey; raised her knees to her shoulders so she knew she was gaping open, vulnerable to him.



- Good girl. Such a good girl. Such a pretty young cunt and — he moved his head so his tongue reached her arse — such a needy wee anus. D’you know when I was last with a girl as young as you Sandra?



She whimpered as his tongue laved her anus, trembling in need:



- No. When?



- If my memory’s right, about forty-five years ago.



- Please. Lick my cunt. She needs your tongue now Sandy.



- Does she indeed lassie? How lovely. Maybe I’ll have to indulge her then.



His senses exploded as his tongue ploughed her furrow: the taste and smell of piss mingled with sweat and the delights of her sexhoney, her soft giving texture; a cocktail of sexual joy. This girl was just perfect. And she was his, at least for the few nights he intended staying at the camp. But his cock was dripping. He had to fuck her:



- Ready for cock up her, is she?



- Jesus aye. And I like it hard. Use me.



Fuck, she was better than perfect. He’d noticed the clothes-pegs on the drying line over the driver’s seat. He knelt up and removed two:



- Right lassie. Lower your legs now. I need to play with your tits before I fuck you.



She obeyed. Gasped as he attached the pegs to her pointy hard nipples:



- Ever had really hard sexplay Sandra?



- Ohfuck, my nipples… I was going to say it hurts, but my cunt needs to explode. What’s really hard sexplay? You mean, like, BDSM?



- Aye, that’s what I mean. Have you?



- No. But I’ve read and fantasised…



She was more than perfect, this adventurous wee lassie. He couldn’t wait any longer. Lifted her legs over his shoulders, plunged his cock right into her core:



- Tonight, and for as long as I’m with you, I own you. I’ll teach you things nobody else could ever teach you.



She writhed beneath him as he plundered her. She couldn’t believe how the fuck was intensified by the throbbing of her abused nipples. And of course, by the weed she’d smoked earlier. She was going to cum soon:



- Not sure about you owning me… but… ohhhfuck… I’ll tell you something man…



Sweat was pouring from him whilst his member sawed in her cunt. He twisted his head to suck her toes as the pair of them writhed together, relishing the sweat between them:



- What, lassie… slut… my slut?



- I’ve never before orgasmed to a fuck. I’m going to now… so this’ll be a first. Spunk in my cunt Sandy. Make me cum. You can have my arse later… ohsweet dirtiness, make me cum on your cock… maybe you do own me… a wee bit… and nobody ever sucked my toes before, my stinky toes…



Her body convulsed. Sandy was almost lost in her, but watched as her irises rolled till only the whites showed. Just like his beloved ex. He could hold back no longer:



- Take this, my gorgeous wee lassie. Take my spunk in your cunt…



Her hips jumped from the mattress, pushing up against his penetration. A wailing ululating sound came from her mouth. As he exploded into her, her cuntmouth, all of her, closed on him. And his groin was soaked by her ejaculation. Her legs fell from his shoulders and he collapsed on her. Sweat ran on them, and he licked her face:



- Sandra, my dear lassie. I have no words. But you know, don’t you?



She shivered in agony when he removed the pegs. her nipples. He kissed her nipples gently, knowing her pain as the blood rushed back into them.



- Aye, I know. You do own me. I’ve never been there before. But I want to return there. Will you take me, Sandy?



She trembled as his flaccidity slipped out of her.



- Aye lassie. I’ll take you there again, as often as we can be together. I’ve never been quite there before either Sandra.



He kissed her mouth, feeling something akin to love:



- Which Uni are you going to?



She smiled wickedly:



- Strathclyde. Chemical Engineering. Why d’you ask?



- You know fine why I asked, slut. I need more of you. Much more.



He knew she had a fine mind. Chem Eng was reputed to be one of the most challenging degrees, along with medicine and dentistry. Strathclyde had one of the best schools in the subject, so there was heavy competition for places. And it was in Glasgow. He was impressed. And glad that she was remaining in the city.



*****



She woke first, to sun streaming through the east-facing windscreen. She’d slept soundly for a change, better than any night since she’d arrived at the camp a few weeks previously. It was so comforting to have Sandy with her. She’d never before spent a whole night with a man. Well, she’d never before been with a man. Only boys her own age. She studied his face.



Mike had told them all something about him. An old socialist who’d given his life to fighting for, and caring for, other people. The lines on his face showed it, she thought. She kissed his brow. She didn’t understand why she wanted him so much, but she did. She lifted the top of the unzipped sleeping bag — it had been sultrily warm all night — and licked and kissed down his slim fit form.



His cock was hard. She took it in her mouth, relishing the scent and taste of her cunt on him. Jesus, how he’d transported her last night! Her first orgasm with a cock in her… she needed more. She sucked and fondled, heard soft groans. Intensified her attention.

- What a beautiful way to wake up girl. Thank you. But I don’t want to spunk in your mouth. I need to learn your sweet arse. Give it to me lassie.



That tone of command in his voice again.



Something in her melted:



- Yes. Sir. I need this organ in my arse.



One last suck, and she licked back up his body:



- How do you want your slut, Sandy?



- On your back. I need to watch your face as I take your virgin arse, woman.



He watched in joy as the compliant girl slid on her back beside him, opening her legs. He crouched to lick her sweet cunt, his cock throbbing. Lifted her legs over his shoulders, and her arse was before him. He licked and probed with his tongue, then asked, breathlessly:



- D’you have any oil here, anything to help me take your arse? It’ll hurt if there’s no lube, unless your bum is really greasy?



- No, I don’t think so… but there’s olive oil in the main caravan.



- This is too urgent, I’m not going there now. We’ll need to do the best we can manage. Suck my cock, and slobber on him. He needs to be as wet as possible. But first, I need to feel this…



She gasped as two wet fingers pushed past her sphincter, sank in her. Heard him murmur:



- Jesus girl. A deliciously greasy arse. This should work without lube. Now suck me. Wetly



And he thrust his hardness between her lips. She was beyond excited, obeyed. Slurped on him. Felt him harden further. He withdrew. Pulled her legs over his shoulders again, spread her cunthoney into her bum. She felt the hardness prodding her sphincter:



- Relax Sandraslut. Push out, as if you’re going to shit.



She obeyed. His hardness pressed on her, and her muscles gave a wee bit. He forced into her tightness, and she gasped in pain:



- No Sandy, please no, that’s too much.



- Fuck that slut, I’m taking you. You need this. The pain won’t last, I promise.



It didn’t. It was strange and slightly uncomfortable as she felt him filling her where she’d never been filled before. She shivered as he kissed her closed eyelids, licking her nose. Knew he cared, way beyond wanting to fuck her. Her eyes opened as his member probed in her rectum:



- Sandy… I… this is the strangest sensation…



- Good or bad sensation lassie?



- New. Good. I think.



He was bursting to just use her for his own pleasure, but knew he would need more in future. And he cared for her. So he restrained himself:



- Want me further into you?



His lips feathered hers. His tongue licked her nose.



- Yes Sandy. All the way in. Fuck my arse.



- Ohgod. Thank you lassie.



Her bum exploded in pain as he forced all the way into her, withdrew, rammed in again. His pelvic bone was pressed hard on her clit as he took her, and she began to find strange pleasure in their un-natural coupling. And, maybe, in the act of giving him what he needed.



He sensed from her breathing, and the muscle-twitches on her face, what was happening. She wasn’t his first anal virgin. He kissed her mouth. His fingers found a nipple, and he twisted and tugged. Her breathing became panting. He tweaked and pulled the other nipple as his cock delved in her tight bowels. He knew he couldn’t last very much longer, but yearned to give her her first anal orgasm. He ground his pubic bone harder on her clit on every in-stroke. Her panting morphed into moany grunts and gasps. He had to hold out till she got there; wanted so much to be good for this wonderful girl. He sucked her earlobe as he plundered her, whispered:



- Cum for me, slutSandra. Cum to Sandy’s cock fucking your sweet virgin bum. Cum to your first anal violation…



Her screams rent the morning air. She shuddered and convulsed under him, and her sphincter grasped him till he emptied into her. She hissed a long ssssss as her irises returned to his sight. She breathed:



- Master. You own this slut completely now.



He watched as she slid the dress, a different one from yesterday, over her slim muscled form. They wandered through the brush, still wet from the night’s rain, a blackbird melodiously welcoming the morning, to the main communal van. He’d noticed a wee honeysuckle shrub against the side of her home as they left it. He knew he couldn’t ever own this remarkable young woman, but cherished her words.



They’d finished their porridge, were sipping strong tea and munching toast and honey, when Michael eventually appeared in the van. Hugged his father:



- Hi dad. I didn’t see your tent. Where did you sleep?



Sandy thought for a minute, realised that it would be impossible to keep his relationship with Sandra from his son. He was just too close to Michael:



- Sandra persuaded me that I’d be better off in her van. I’m glad she did; not sure my wee tent could have coped with the rain last night. How did you sleep?



The lad’s eyes flickered between Sandra and his father, his wonder transparent:



- Fine, dad.



Michael turned and busied himself ladling porridge and pouring tea:



- Anyone needing a refill?



*****



He and his son had discussed a short day’s cycle trip if the weather was good: up the A814 past the gates of the base, then a right turn from the main road, up the steep winding brae to the summit, and down Glen Fruin, through Helensburgh. Maybe a stop if they had time to view Mackintosh’s Hill House, and back to the camp by the coast road. He told Sandra of this as Michael took his breakfast. A wee frown creased her brow:



- After last night, you want to go off and leave me alone today?



He sighed. She was very young:



- He’s my son. I don’t see enough of him, don’t do as much with him as I should. If you have a bike, why don’t you come with us?



The frown remained for a moment, but her blue eyes sparkled:



- I don’t have one here, but I’m sure I can borrow Liz’s. I haven’t cycled much in ages though. How far is it? And — she paused momentarily — I do like Mike. Won’t he mind me joining you?



There was something behind the hesitation, he knew. He’d discover what it was in time:



- It can’t be more than twenty miles, maybe less. Go and ask Liz, and I’ll speak to Michael.



Forty minutes later, armed with oranges, sandwiches, a flask of soup, and a few bottles of tapwater, the three of them set off. Sandy was more relaxed than he had been in years, indulging himself in his closeness to his son. And his fascinating new young lover. The sun shone on their backs as they plodded up the hill past the base gates, the sinister black forms of two Trident-carrying nuclear submarines souring the Gareloch below to their left. Michael was well ahead, of course, and Sandy knew better than to try and talk to Sandra beside him as his tired muscles forced the pedals up the brae. She was even less used to cycling than he was, and near the summit she gasped:



- I need a wee rest Sandy. Sorry. Stop with me please. I don’t know where we’re going.



They dismounted, and leaned their bikes against the perimeter fence of the base. He took her in his arms, licked the sweat from her brow. Kissed her eager mouth, and fingered between her legs through the shorts she’d changed into for the day out:



- Last night was the most wonderful thing that’s happened to me in nearly two years Sandra. I want to keep you in my life, if you’ll have me. I know, given the age thing, that it’s near insane. But you’re under my skin, slutgirl. And I want you to stay there. Will you? Please?



- I…



Then she pushed him away. A squeal of brakes, and Michael was beside them:



- Dad! You can’t have needed to rest already? You did so well yesterday.



Sandy wasn’t going to tell his son that it wasn’t he who had to stop:



- I got cramp in my left calf. I just asked Sandra if she would massage it for me, but I think it’s OK now. So shall we get moving again? Next stop a proper break at the summit before we descend into Glen Fruin? It’s nearly all downhill after that.



Michael was measuring his pace, deliberately not pulling ahead of his dad and Sandra now. He did wonder what had happened in her van last night. He’d seen inside it, knew how wee it was. But surely not; his dad was well into his sixties, Sandra just out of Hyndland Secondary. The thought was ridiculous. But he’d known his dad’s ex well; knew the attraction sensuous younger women had for him. And he for them. But Sandra… he knew her a bit, and she was a special and lovely girl. She was so young… His dad?



The sun was shining today again after yesterday’s low pressure and thunderstorms. And his dad had finally succumbed to his pleas to visit the peace camp and meet some of his friends. Michael’s mind settled on the song he was writing as his fit legs powered him up the steep brae.



Sandra and his dad were panting when they rested their bikes next to his at the summit. He watched his father’s red face, pouring sweat, as he drew bottles from the pannier, handed one to each of them:



- A couple more days like this and you’ll have all your old fitness back dad. It’s great to see you active again after the past couple of years.



Sandy sighed. He knew he’d been neglecting himself since the searing pain of the breakup with his ex. Not eating properly, not getting enough exercise. Drinking far too much. But Sandra needed to be included in the conversation:



- It might take a wee bit more than a couple of days son. But Sandra’s stew last night certainly gave me lots of energy to burn. And aye, I know I need to get fit again, I’ve been letting myself go. It’s lovely to have someone else cooking for me for a change.



Sandra’s blush could be detected through the high colour from her exertions:



- I’m glad you enjoyed it man. There’s enough left for tonight too. But if you’re staying any longer, it’ll be your turn to prepare the non-veggie meal the next night.



- Fair enough. I’d like to stay at least a couple more nights, get to know everyone a wee bit better.



Sandra’s heart fluttered:



- Aye Sandy, and we all want to get to know you better too.



There was something in her voice when she spoke to his dad, Michael realised. They’d done more than just sleep in her van last night. He studied the girl more closely. Just out of school and six years his junior; she had to be nearly fifty years younger than his father. The older man had moved away, was crouched in the tussocky grass and heather by the roadside. Michael turned to Sandra, touched her arm to bring her thoughts back from wherever they’d wandered:



- He’s an interesting man, isn’t he?



Her blush was very obvious now:



- Aye he is. I think he’s… he’s just lovely.



- He’s the most caring man I’ve ever met Sandra. I’ve learned so much from him…



They were interrupted by a call from Sandy. They rose and moved over to where he crouched:



- Look what I’ve found. Aren’t they just lovely?



Sandra crouched to peer at the myriad wee flowers, pale, just a blush of purple:



- They’re gorgeous Sandy. What are they?



- Orchids. Common spotted marsh orchids.



- Orchids? I thought they only grew in… well, in exotic places?



- Ach no lass. There are a few species native to Scotland, but these are far the most common. They fair brighten the place up, don’t they? Anyway, I think we’ve rested enough. Time to get moving if we’re going to do Hill House justice.



Michael of course wheeched ahead of them down the long slope of Glen Fruin. Sandy was glad, it gave him time to talk to his new lassie as they free-wheeled down the brae:



- I’ve always thought that cycling downhill is almost sexual in the pleasure it brings me. Maybe it is; after all, there’s a lot of pressure on your genitals.



- It gives me sexual pleasure too. I can orgasm when cycling, if I move my cunt on the saddle in a certain way. It’s almost as good as horse-riding for a woman.



Fuck, he was erect now at the thought of her orgasming on her bike:



- Show me, little girl. I want to watch you cum for me as you ride. Think about what I’m going to do to you tonight as you rub your cunt on the saddle. Do it now, for your new master.



Fuck, this man… she flooded at his words. And the tone of command in his voice:



- Yes sir. I’m very wet. I need to get off. Watch me.



He watched in awe as she bent forward and began moving her hips back and forward, twisting and writhing, her mouth slack with lust, her breath coming in pants as the saddle rubbed her clit:



- Ohfuck, nearly there. Tell me what you’re going to do to me tonight please. No, don’t. Tell me the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done.



- That’s easy. Group sex. I’ve had a couple of threesomes. One with two women, I fucked the arse of one from behind as she knelt eating the other woman’s cunt. I had the other woman’s cunt later, once I recovered…



Her face was a portrait of lust at his words, her hips twisting on the saddle:



- Oh jesus… I have a bi friend…



- The other time I was with a woman and her man. She wanted a DP, two cocks in her simultaneously, fucking her arse and cunt to completion…



Sandra’s howl was unearthly, like the sound of a stag rutting. She stopped the bike carefully, almost fell off it. Sandy halted beside her, let his bike lie down on the verge. Grabbed the girl, with a glance down the glen to check nobody was in sight. Twisted one nipple hard through her tshirt as his hand slipped into her shorts. Rubbed and jabbed her cunt hard, almost cruelly, till she howled again, jerked and quivered beside him, her lips glued to his:



- Fuckman, that was so beautiful. I almost fell off my bike when the first one hit me.



- Aye, I’m amazed you managed to stay in control. But now slut, your master needs attention. Serve.



She knelt before him and eased his throbbing heat from his shorts. She didn’t know she wasn’t going to give him a blowjob. He needed to fuck her face, he was so desperate to cum. As she swallowed him whole, he grabbed her wild hair and used her mouth and throat to masturbate in. He erupted in seconds. She gulped his spend down and looked up in his glazed eyes. This girl was so wildly and wickedly sexual… but he was ashamed. Knew he shouldn’t have used her like that. She zipped his shorts and stood. He clasped her to him:



- Sandra my dear, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t think I’ve ever used a woman like that before…



Her finger went to his lips:



- Wheesht man. You didn’t use me; it was mutual pleasure. I enjoyed serving your need. But — she smiled teasingly — Mike will be wondering where we are. Now that we’ve got that out of our systems, let’s get moving.



They found Michael a couple of miles down the road, looking intently in the sky, his bike on the verge. He smiled at them:



- Dad, what’s that?



Sandy followed his finger, pointing in the sky above the moorland below the road:



- Can’t be certain without binocs, and we’re looking into the sun, but I think it’s a red kite. The tail is very distinctive. They’ve been reintroduced into Scotland over the past few years; before that the only UK residents left were in mid-Wales.



Sandra gazed at him, a slightly bewildered look on her:



- Is there anything you don’t know about Sandy?



- Jesus aye lassie, millions of things. Don’t ask me anything about sport or modern popular music. Or what’s on TV; I don’t own one. But the flora and fauna of Scotland, hell yes, course I’m interested, they’re part of our real world. But now — he glanced at his watch — maybe it’s time for lunch?



Michael slapped his dad’s back fondly, looking at Sandra:



- And he knows fuck all about modern cinema either. I think lunch’s in your panniers dad? I’m starving.



After eating, they coasted together down the rest of the glen, then a wee pull up to another watershed before the long steep hill down into Helensburgh. Sandy yelled directions to Michael, and presently they were at the entrance to a rather severe-looking mansion, south-facing over the trees and rooftops of this most douce of Glasgow’s outer dormitory towns. The Firth of Clyde sparkled in the sun beyond. The sign at the gate read: ‘National Trust for Scotland. Hill House.’



- You’d better tell Sandra about it dad, I’ve forgotten most of the details.



- I’m not totally silly Mike, I know something about Charles Rennie Mackintosh. This was one of only two houses he designed, wasn’t it?



Sandy nodded his assent as they strolled up the path to the door. He was delighted that Sandra and he shared at least one common interest, sex apart, and looked forward to getting to know the lassie better.



They spent a couple of hours exploring the house and gardens, and might have remained longer, but Sandy hurried them. He had a couple of things he needed to buy in Helensburgh, before the shops shut. They shackled their bikes in the town centre, and Michael and Sandra walked down the pier whilst Sandy went shopping. He was relieved to find what he was looking for, locked the items in his pannier, and joined the young pair on the pier. They were deep in conversation when he caught up with them:



- OK, mission accomplished. Ready to head back to the camp?



Michael looked at his father a little strangely:



- Aye, I think so. You ready to move Sandra?



As they walked back along the pier, Sandra took Sandy’s hand in hers, whispered:



- Mike knows. I… He asked me outright, and I had to tell him. He seems OK with it.



- Ach weel. He’s no daft. He had to know sooner or later. He and I are very close. We’ve few secrets from each other. I’m quite relieved he knows… and that it was you who told him.



Sandy was tired on the few miles cycle back to the camp. He fell behind, watching as his son and his new lover rode together, chatting occasionally, as they passed the glitter of the Firth, then the Gareloch, on their left.



*****



The evening was quite different to the previous one. After eating Sandy was largely commandeered by James, who subjected him to an almost endless monologue on the intricacies of anarchist theory. Sandy had always been on the left, was well-read, and familiar with some of what James spoke of. But he didn’t like being lectured to, given little opportunity to respond or express a point of view. Ach, the arrogance of youth! But he reflected, as the lad droned on about the distinction between anarchism and libertarianism, that maybe he’d been as certain about his beliefs when he was James’ age? Eventually, he decided by about nine that he’d had enough, tapped the lad’s arm:



- James, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this old man really could do with a shower. Michael told me the camp has one. May I use it?



- Sorry man, aye there’s a shower. Solar heated, and it’s been sunny today, so there should be plenty of hot water. Come to the door and I’ll show you where it is.



There was a knock on the door as he finished drying himself. Towel-clad, he opened it. Sandra stood there, with Liz behind her:



- You finished Sandy? Liz and I both need showers too. It’s normal here to share to conserve hot water.



- Oh. I didn’t realise that, daft me. James didn’t mention it. Sorry to have breached camp etiquette, however inadvertently.



Liz grinned:



- That’s OK, you’re a guest. Now, may we come in?



- Errr… maybe I should dress first?



- You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. And I’m sure Sandra knows you already. Now let us in man, I’ve been digging vegetables all day, and you know what Sandra’s been doing. We’re both mingin.



He backed away from the door as the women entered. They began undressing, so he turned his back to them, embarrassed to be seen naked by Liz, and quickly pulled his briefs up. They were in the shower by the time he finished covering himself. Liz was smiling between the open curtains, brazenly displaying her tits and shaven cunt. With a grunted farewell, he exited, shaken, and returned to the communal van.



He was pleased to see that James was delivering a monologue to one of the other men. He’d been told all their names the previous evening but wasn’t so good at remembering things as he got older. Michael broke from a discussion with one of the women, rather overweight, maybe in her early twenties, and waved him over:

Michaela was the most tired she had ever been in all of her 42 years. Or at least the most tired that she could remember. Her entire life seemed to be catching up to her at once – and she longed for a reprieve of some kind. But she couldn’t envision what form it would take, and didn’t dare pray for rest because she knew too well the maxim “be careful what you wish for.” Praying for rest could mean the end of her business, or worse – eternal rest. So she fanned herself with the morning newspaper as she made her way through the already-drenching humidity of a Philadelphia late-summer morning to her shop to open for the day.



It was 1763 and finally peace was settling into the colonies following the long French and Indian War. But a postwar depression came with the peace and Michaela’s millinery wasn’t doing as well as it had in the war years. There had been so many soldiers who needed clothing; so much British specie to pay for it. To say nothing of privateers coming in, their pockets loaded with booty, wanting to look like the gentry class status their conquests had purchased for them. She had had to hire extra help meet orders on time and make deliveries. Business had boomed but now things had slowed to a trickle. She had to let some of her workers go, which had upset the local free black community that depended on successful community business owners like Michaela to give a leg up to others. But as bad as it felt for her to walk into church every Sunday and see their scornful faces, it was nothing compared to the fear and anxiety that gripped her every day; the fear that she could lose the business altogether – and then what? At 42 she could hardly pick up and start again. And Philadelphia had plenty of other milliners to choose from — as would New York or Boston or wherever else she might choose to move to. Clothing, sewing, fabrics – it was all she knew. A skill she had acquired from almost a decade- long apprenticeship. Her mother had been the servant for a Scottish farmer in Lancaster County. By the time her mother was 24 she had also borne him 3 children. When her mother died giving birth to a fourth child, their father had all of his children “bound-out” to trades rather than face the community scorn of raising them as his true-born children. Her two brothers went to Philadelphia and into the merchant marine; Michaela was apprenticed to a milliner. She was a naturally gifted seamstress, and by the time she was ready to start her own shop she had established a reputation for quality clothing. She also had brothers who, because of their merchant connections, could acquire fabrics at cheaper prices (sometimes flat-out stolen) than her competition.



There was one other option that might have changed her personal fortune that Michaela had always shied away from: marriage. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had her share of offers – she was an eligible free black bachelorette. And it wasn’t as if she had never been tempted; she felt the same stirrings under her petticoat that every woman felt. Stirrings that caused her to abuse her cunt almost nightly). But English common law was clear: all property of a woman transferred automatically to her husband when she married. Michaela was determined never to take that chance; never to put her safety and security in the hands of a man who might say he loved her but could walk away with (or gamble away) everything. So she had never married; never had children (although she loved them; she doted on her nieces and nephews spoiling them rotten when times were good). She had sacrificed her own personal happiness for a lifetime of security. But now even that sacrifice seemed to be in vain and with no love to come home to; nothing but her own fingers to pleasure herself with . . . no wonder she felt like she could sleep for a century.



Michaela had nearly finished her Monday morning routine: quick inventory of fabrics, make sure orders are ready for delivery; answer correspondence. She was ready to begin cutting the fabric for the hats the Covington family had ordered for their twin girls when Mr. Harris walked in with a man she had never seen before. He was tall, older (she guessed around 60), well-built with deep brown eyes that seemed to look right through her. Mr. Harris was one of her regular white customers; she had built up a strong clientele with the nouveau riche of Philadelphia who wanted to look the part but couldn’t afford the more elite English or French milliners in the city. Michaela could produce the same quality but cheaper and her reputation had spread. She rose to greet Mr. Harris, curtsying slightly while Harris tipped his cap. “Good morning Ms. MacGregor. I would like to introduce you to Mr. Jacob Hallam. He’s a cousin newly arrived in the city from Charleston. He’s undertaking a voyage to Canada in a few months and needs to be outfitted for their cold winters.”



Michaela curtysied toward Mr. Hallam who smiled slyly and tipped his cap. As a milliner, Michaela didn’t make full suits of clothing (only male tailors did that) but she did make cloaks, hats, hoods and muffs – all necessary for Canada’s bitter cold winters. Harris turned to Michaela. “So – can you accommodate us, Ms. MacGregor? Can you keep my cousin warm?”



Michaela smiled and responded, “Always happy to serve a good client like Mr. Harris or a cousin of his. Will this be on Mr. Harris’ account, or . . .?”



Suddenly Hallam chimed in, “No – I will pay in cash.”



Harris turned to Michaela and said, “Excellent! Well, shall I leave you to it? I have an appointment and must take my leave.”



Hallam, looking at Michaela, said, “I am sure I am in good hands.”



Michaela wasn’t sure what was more erotic: the way he was undressing her with his eyes or the way his words promised something far more than a business transaction. Her mouth suddenly went dry and she croaked out, “My assistant Charles is out on a delivery. Until he gets back can I show you some of our heavier woolen fabrics?”



Hallam, looking puzzled, said to Michaela, “Why do we need your assistant present?”



Michaela looked toward the curtained area in the back of the store, blushed, and said, “To take your measurements. We are alone in the shop. It wouldn’t be proper, er . . . it’s not considered appropriate for me to, er . . . .”



Hallam smiled and said calmly but forcefully, “I am a busy man Ms. MacGregor. I too have appointments. I don’t have time to wait for lackeys. I won’t stand on ceremony if you won’t and your reputation is safe with me. Shall we?” and with that Hallam pointed her toward the curtain in the back. She didn’t know why, but Michaela felt compelled to do as he wished even though she knew it was dangerous – and a little scandalous.



After Michaela entered the small curtained room with the full-length mirror, Hallam closed the curtain slowly behind them. He stood in the center of the room and Michaela became aware that she was having difficulty breathing. It wasn’t the closeness of the space or the pressing of her corset on her curvy frame; it was the fact that Hallam seemed to command so much of the space. She fumbled with the tape a bit and asked him to extend his arms outwards. She refused to look at his face, avoiding those penetrating eyes. With his arms extended he watched her work and asked her seemingly innocuous questions about how long she had owned the shop, how long she had fitted Harris, what she thought of the late war. She answered politically but briefly, keeping her eyes focused on the tape. Then Michaela needed to measure his chest. She stood in front of him and indicated she would need to wrap the tap around his back. He smiled and told her to proceed. Michaela wrapped her arms with the tape around him, and discovered she was shaking. The smell of him (natural musk and . . . sandalwood?) was intoxicating; she almost felt woozy. She managed to take his waist measurement and was starting to feel relieved this humiliation would soon be over. But then Hallam interjected, “I’ll need a pair of trousers to match the cloak.”



Michaela looked him square in the eye and said, “Then Sir will need to see a Tailor. I’m a milliner – I do not make men’s trousers.”



Hallam’s eyes suddenly turned steely, pinning her with their intensity. “And how will the trousers match if they are made by someone else?”



Without missing a beat, Michaela answered, “I’ll give Sir a bolt of the same fabric to take to the tailor – or have it delivered if it pleases you.”



“No. You will make them both or you will make nothing – understand?”



However uncomfortable she felt, this was business and she needed this sale. And it wasn’t as if she had never made trousers before – she’d made several for her own brothers or for friends. “Yes Sir. Very well.” She stepped back, took a deep breath, and asked him a question hoping to avoid what was inevitable. “Mr. Hallam? Do you know what your inside leg measurement is?”



Hallam just shook his head slowly side to side. “Um, I really think we need to wait for my assistant . . . .”



“I told you – I am a busy man. Take my measure now or forget the sale. I am sure I can find another tailor in this city.”



Michaela took another deep breath, gathered her skirts, and crouched down on her knees. Her eyes were level with his crotch. In barely a whisper she asked, “Do you dress left or right, Sir?” Suddenly she saw his pants start to bulge in front of her; she could see the outline of his cock begin to protrude against his trousers just above her right eye. It shocked her, but it also aroused her and it took all of her strength not to reach up and stroke Hallam’s bulging cock; to free it from his pants and demand that he put it inside her now wet cunt.



From above she heard a voice say slyly, “Well?”



“Left, Sir.” She took the measurement as quickly as she could and stood facing him again feeling shaky on her feet.



“Finished?”



“Yes Mr. Hallam – finished.” Suddenly the measuring tape was snatched from Michaela’s hands and thrown around her like a lasso. Hallam used the tape to pull her toward him and she felt herself being pushed up against the mirror behind her. The full weight of Hallam was on her and before she knew what was happening he was kissing her. “Kissing” wasn’t really an accurate description – his tongue had launched a full-scale invasion of her mouth, and Michaela – pinned by the tape he was grasping tightly, could do nothing but let the enemy advance. She did, however, trade him volley for volley with her own tongue, moaning deeply into his mouth. What was happening to her? Kissing some strange white man in the dressing room of her store?! Allowing herself to be molested this way?



Suddenly he broke off the kiss and said breathlessly, “Enough, wench. I just wanted to take your measure. Turnabout is fair play.”



Michaela, unable to help herself, leaned in to try to kiss him again. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Mmm – someone is a lusty wench, isn’t she?”



Michaela couldn’t respond. How could she? “Answer me,” he said firmly.



“Yes . . . Yes Sir.” Hallam smiled and lightly touched Michaela’s cheek. When he pulled away it gave Michaela enough space to gather herself and remember their purpose for being in that room to begin with.



“I should have the coat cut in a week; you’ll need to come in for another measurement. And then a week after that for the trousers.”



“Very well – one week.” And with that he turned, opened the curtain, and walked out of the store. Michaela’s corset had never felt so tight, nor her cunt so wet. She could feel her arousal soaking her breeches as she doubled-over trying to catch her breath and process all the new emotions sweeping through her.



It was the longest week of Michaela’s life for more reasons than one. That night of the kiss, Michaela hardly knew what to do with herself. She had a knot of desire in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t go away. Not even her own fingers could quench it. And what was more was her shock at how quickly she had given in to Hallam – a complete stranger. Not just a stranger – a white southern stranger! For all she knew, he might even be a slave owner. Ten minutes and she nearly gave herself to him completely in the dressing room of her own store? She dare not look in a mirror for fear of not knowing the stranger staring back at her. She determined the next day to start work on his clothing; to have that suit finished as soon as possible to rid herself of him for once and for all. Work – it had always been her salvation. The next day Michaela was at work on a warm woolen cloak for Hallam when an idea struck her: Canada. With the war being over and Britain now controlling Canada, there might be a market beyond Hallam. She quickly paused in her work and dashed off to the printers to place an advertisement. In three days she had all the business she could handle and was able to hire back her employees. But as the end of the week got nearer, she became even more anxious and that knot got more unbearable. That weekend she barely slept a wink. She just couldn’t keep her hands out of her cunt either, thinking about what would happen on Monday when Hallam came to collect his suit. Sometimes she rubbed her clit slowly, remembering how his tongue felt in her mouth. Other times she rubbed fast and hard remembering how his big cock bulged in his pants. And she always came thinking about that hard white cock inside her. Once, for the first time, she actually put a finger inside her cunt. Not deep, but just enough to feel what it might be like. And then she licked her finger, tasting her arousal. She had become so wanton in only a week; she hardly knew herself.



Monday morning she was on pins and needles waiting for Hallam to walk in. The cloak was well on its way to being perfect – one of her best. She wanted him to love it, and she wanted to see him in it. And out of it. But the morning passed, and no Hallam. She busied herself with other activities that often kept her in the back of the store. Every time the shop bell rang she practically sprinted to the front of the store to see if it was him. Afternoon arrived and her employee Jack asked her if she wanted to join his family for tea but she declined – she didn’t want to take the chance she might miss Hallam. Michaela did have to leave briefly in the later afternoon to escort her niece from school, but when she returned only Sally was in the back room. The time came to close up the store and Michaela was puzzled. She looked over to where she had hung his cloak cut-out that morning – it was gone! She turned quickly to Sally and asked her what had happened to it? Sally told her, “Mr. Hallam came in while you were out. Jack took his measurements. He left the cloak in the fitting room for you.” Michaela felt suddenly bereft. Utterly bereft – as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so lonely and empty. Other than to use the privy in the back alley she had only stepped out for what – 30 minutes? How was it that those were the 30 minutes he decided to make an appearance? Surely he had not been watching? Waiting? Such a ridiculous thought! After she closed the store, Michaela walked home feeling exhausted again. It was one of the times she wished that instead of letting the space above the store for extra income she had chosen to live there rather than walk the 4 blocks to her small home near Printer’s Row. (She often wished this especially on blistery winter nights as well.) She wanted to crawl into bed and never get out again. There was no knot of desire, no twinges in her cunt – just emptiness.



She was across the street from her house when she saw the horse at the post outside her door. Then she saw the man casually leaning in the doorway. It was Hallam. When he saw her approach he stepped into the street to greet her, tipping his cap. Michaela froze, not quite knowing how to react. She was elated and angry and shocked all at the same time. How did he know where she lived? “Good evening Ms. MacGregor. I wanted to compliment you personally on the fine cloak you are making for me.”



“Thank you, Mr. Hallam. I was expecting to see you at my shop today – not my private home. This isn’t proper. How did you find out I live here?”



Jacob responded, “I’ve been asking about you.” Seeing the look of alarm on Michaela’s face, he continued, “Don’t worry – I was discreet. I will tell you more, but if propriety is a concern, perhaps this conversation is best continued indoors?”



Michaela hesitated briefly. Surely she was not about to let a lascivious stranger into her home? But her curiosity got the better of her; and thoughts of his cock bulge still danced in her head. So looked up and down the street and seeing no one she moved past him to unlock the door, trying to act nonchalant. He followed her into the house and closed the door behind him, grabbing her by the back of her neck and kissing her. God how she had craved this! With no hesitation her hands found their way around his waist, and her tongue lapped eagerly at his. When he finally came up for air, he pushed her away from him and looked at her. “For a such a saucy wench you have led a sheltered life. Still unplucked, as I understand it?” Michaela blushed and felt embarrassed. Jacob gently touched her burning red cheek and said, “I know you never married; no one has ever seen you with a steady beau. You’re a spinster. You have your work and that’s all, am I right?” Hearing it out loud like that had a strange effect on Michaela – she could feel the tears start to form involuntarily and she tried to turn away from him. But Jacob grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “The work isn’t enough, anymore is it?”



“No – not it isn’t,” she choked out.



Jacob kissed her and said, “I have what you need, but you’re going to have to beg for it, understand wench?” Michaela realized this was a point of no return. If she opened this door there would be no closing it; if she became this person there would be no way back. And still she dropped to her knees in front of this strange man and saw his bulge growing again just like it had in the shop.



She looked up into his eyes and said, “Fuck me Sir – please fuck me with your hard cock.”



Jacob looked down at her and said, “Why should I waste my cock on a black whore like you?”



The words tumbled out of her from a place inside she didn’t even know existed a week ago. “Because only your fuck can satisfy a whore like me. Only your seed will quench my hunger.” Jacob closed his eyes and pulled Michaela to her feet. He whirled her around and bent her over the entryway table. Jacob quickly hiked up her skirts and roughly pulled down her underclothes. She heard a buckle and a rustle and then she gasped when she felt his hard cock inside her tight wet cunt.



She gasped more as Jacob plunged himself in deeper, thrusting. Then suddenly he withdrew his cock. Michaela was relieved of her virgin pain but felt that horrible emptiness again. “No! Please! Sir – don’t stop – fuck me!” She felt the sharp sting of a hand on her ass. Then again on the other cheek.



“Black whores get fucked when Sir says they get fucked, understand?”



“Yes Sir!”



“Good.” Jacob spanked her hard a few more times and said, “Mmm – I’m going to enjoy this; being the first one to see this beautiful ass turn pink.” Then he ordered Michaela to stand up and untie her corset. Her hands were shaking, but she complied immediately. She could see in the hallway mirror she was facing that behind her Jacob was stroking his cock watching her. When her corset tumbled to the floor and her breasts bounced in front of her, Jacob’s hands left his cock and he started to pinch and squeeze her nipples while sucking on her neck. “Mmm – you taste almost as good as you look. Down.” She bent over and she felt his hard white cock inside her wet cunt again. She moaned from the pain and the fullness. He thrust hard and deep, but slowly. Almost too slowly. After each thrust he taunted her with his words. “How did a whore like you get such a tight cunt?” And, “A slut like you should be selling your cunt, not cloaks.” And he made her tell him that she was a whore, a slut, a black wench who craved only white cock. And she did, and she meant it, but she didn’t understand how or why. “Touch yourself slut, and cum when I tell you to – and not before.” Desperate for relief, Michaela began to rub her clit furiously; Jacob started to thrust faster. “Now. Cum now!” She could feel Jacob’s hands grabbing tight to her ass cheeks, and she came loudly, but not as loudly as Jacob who put his arms around her to steady himself during his climax. She could feel him breathing heavy on the back of her neck. He slowly stood, pulling her up with him. They were both out of breath.

She turned around to face him, to kiss him, but he stopped her, and grabbed her right hand, the one that had been on her clit. “Lick them clean,” he told her and she did. Then he pointed down to his still-hard cock and told her to clean it off. Michaela knelt down and reached down for one of her petticoats. She wiped off her virgin blood and noticed . . . .



“Sir?” she asked looking up at Jacob.



“Yes?”



“Shouldn’t there be . . . I mean, there isn’t any . . .”



“Seed? It runs in my family. You don’t need to worry about issue.” It had not occurred to Michaela until that moment to worry about getting with child, but she was relieved nonetheless. Then Jacob looked down at her and said, “Now clean off my cock properly, wench. The way a whore should.” Michaela took his now-soft cock into her hand and started to wrap her lips around the head of his member. But he grabbed her long dark hair and forced her to look up at him. “No teeth cunt. Suck it like a good black wench should – understand?”



Michaela said, “Yes Sir,” and took him into her mouth. She could taste her own juices and her nose was inhaling the musk of his balls. Her ears could hear his satisfied moans. Her cunt was getting moist and she started to rub her clit. He was getting hard again inside her mouth! She had never felt so wanton and so fulfilled. She was desperate to make him cum, to bring him pleasure. Jacob heard Michaela moaning, he saw that she was touching her cunt and he could smell her arousal.



He pulled out of her mouth and growled, “Take your fingers out of your cunt! Don’t cum you black bitch – not until I tell you to.” Michaela complied immediately and started to suck his cock again, but Jacob stepped back.



“Take me to your bed.” Michaela picked up her clothes from the floor and walked toward her bedroom in the back of the house, pausing only to light a candelabra to light their way. Once inside, Jacob took the candle from her and told her to get naked and lie down on the bed. He proceeded to light the candles Michaela kept on either side of her bed, then he blew out the candelabra. Jacob stood at the side of the bed and undressed slowly, telling Michaela to watch (as if she could take her eyes off of him). When he was completely naked he started to stroke his cock with his right hand, and then his left started to fondle her clit. Michaela started to moan and writhe at his touch.



“Now, what did I tell you?”



“I can’t cum until you tell me to.”



“That’s right. Now sit up and suck my cock until I cum, whore.”



Michaela sat up on the edge of her big feather bed. Jacob was tall, but she still had to bend down to put his cock in her mouth. She started to suck hard and deep and Jacob started thrusting inside her mouth. His thrusts were going deeper each time and she was afraid she would choke, but when she tried to pull back, he pushed her head back down. She gagged and thought she was going to vomit but Jacob just moaned and told her what a good black cocksucker she was and then suddenly he came hard inside her mouth. She was finally able to sit up, eyes running, nose running. She reached for a handkerchief by her bedside while Jacob composed himself. Then he told her to pull back the covers and get into the bed. He climbed in on top of her and kissed her deeply. “You have been such an obedient black wench; I think you deserve a reward. I want you to cum as often as you want, understand?”



“Yes Sir.” Jacob started trailing kisses down her neck, sucking and taking little bites. Then he lingered over her tits doing the same thing: licking, sucking, biting – when he bit her nipples she yelped but she didn’t tell him to stop. It hurt but it felt like heaven all at the same time. He continued down her belly, and he paused just at the apex of her cunt. He looked up and told her, “Don’t hold back – as often as you need to.” Then she felt sensations she never thought possible when Jacob’s tongue started to dance on her clit; when his fingers slid and thrust inside her. And she came again and again, bucking her hips off the bed, Jacob trying to hold her down to force her to feel every spasm completely. She lost track of how many times she came and was barely cognizant that Jacob had stopped and was hovering over her. He kissed her and she could taste her juices on his tongue, his lips. He stuck his fingers in her mouth and she sucked them clean. Then he quietly lay beside her and pulled her into his arms, holding her tenderly. He kissed her forehead and hair, stroked her arm, and she clung to him as if her life depended on his presence. She felt completely content and whole for the first time in her life. Just before she fell asleep, she heard Jacob whisper, “I think I’ve waited a lifetime for you, do you know that?” She was too overwhelmed and too exhausted to respond, and she gave in to the growing darkness behind her eyes. When Michaela awakened, Jacob was gone.



Walking to the store that morning, Michaela didn’t feel empty or bereft or exhausted. She knew that she would see Jacob again. She was also acutely aware of how she should be feeling. She should have felt used and abandoned; she should have felt like a whore who did sinful, damnable things to and with a complete stranger. She should have felt guilty for giving up her maidenhead to a white southerner who was possibly a slaveowner. But she didn’t feel any of those things. What she did feel was strangely calm; strangely happy. She felt . . . free. As if the weight of the world was finally off of her shoulders. And she felt freed from the prison of her own longing and desires. Free to be a completely wanton whore for someone – for Jacob. She was sure when her workers showed up they could read it in her face, but of course that was in her imagination. But they did notice that she wasn’t barking orders like usual – her tone was more even and calm. They did notice that she smiled more often and laughed easier and actually seemed to be enjoying her work for the first time in longer than they could remember. And they noticed that, an hour before closing time, when Jacob Hallam walked in the door the already stuffy temperature in the store went up a noticeable few more degrees. Without taking her eyes off of Jacob Michaela said, “That’s enough for today everyone – I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her employees did not need to be told twice to leave early – they exited the store quickly and without fanfare. Jacob closed the door behind them, hung up the “Closed” sign, and drew the shades. Then he crossed the room to Michaela who felt planted to the floor. As he approached her she said, “Who are you?”



He kissed her, the stepped back and made a grand bow saying, “Jacob Hallam, hemp merchant – at your service.” Then he took her hand and led her toward the back storeroom.



But she stopped and said, “Do you own slaves?”



He kissed her again, smiled, and said, “Only one.” Michaela’s face fell, and she suddenly felt like she might be ill, but Jacob held her and said, “She’s a milliner who looks like a Venus, fucks like a slut, and loves with her whole being.”



Michaela shook her head and said, “How can you . . .? You don’t know me – you don’t know anything about me.”



Jacob took both her hands and pulled her to the back room. As he walked backward, Michaela in tow, he responded, “Don’t know you? I know you better than you think.” He pulled the curtain behind them and pulled Michaela to him so she could feel his hard cock pressing up against her through his trousers. She moaned, started to kiss his neck, and her hand reached down to free his thick cock. But Jacob stopped her hand and he grabbed her hair and pulled – hard. “For instance, I know that you want me to fuck you now.” Then Jacob reached inside his trousers and pulled out his cock, and said, “Now tell me wench – am I wrong?”



Michaela shook her head no, and Jacob wheeled her around, yanked up her petticoats and yanked down her breeches and spanked her – hard. Michaela yelped, and she knew she should be angry, upset – she should hate this. She should feel humiliated. But she didn’t; she liked the feel of his hand, of how alive she felt. “When I ask you a question I expect you to answer me properly, whore!” Smack!



“Yes Sir!”



“Tell me – am I wrong about you?”



“No, Sir!” The smacks came faster, the stings more painful. She wanted to tell him to stop, but she was enjoying being at his mercy. Suddenly he stopped and rubbed her ass tenderly with his hands. Then he wheeled her around again to face him and his hard cock.



There were tears running down her cheeks and he said, “Now tell me what you want, my precious wench.”



Michaela looked in Jacob’s eyes and said, “I want to suck your cock, Sir, and then I want you to fuck me in my cunt. And then . . . .”



“Then what, whore?” She could hardly believe what she was about to say.



“I want you to sodomize me.” Jacob closed his eyes, sighed, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.



“As my black wench wishes.” He ordered her to undress then to kneel and suck his hard thick white cock. While Michaela sucked him, Jacob said, “Your black mouth was made for my cock; suck it like the slut that you are.” After a few minutes he pulled back and told her to stand up and bend over. She felt him plunge his thick white cock deep into her cunt and he started thrusting. Michaela reached for her clit, but Jacob pulled his cock out of her cunt and said, “No – you didn’t ask for that.”



“But . . . please Sir . . .” Smack!



“I said no – if I want you to beg I will tell you to.” He started thrusting again, and Michaela took some consolation from the fact that she could feel her orgasm begin to build from inside; she would have relief soon from the pounding her cunt was taking from Jacob’s big cock. But when she felt herself get close Jacob suddenly pulled out again.



Michaela panted, “Sir – oh no – please.” Smack!



“My black wench didn’t ask if she could cum either, did she?”



“No, oh Sir, please!” Smack! Smack!



“I said No — what did I tell you about begging?”



“Yes Sir,” Michaela whimpered. Jacob resumed his thrusting and each time she got close he stopped and started again; by the fourth time Michaela was ready to burst into tears. Then she heard him clear his throat and she felt something wet on her asshole. Then she felt something being inserted – a finger? With Jacob’s cock thrusting in her cunt and now his finger in her asshole she felt so . . . complete. It felt strange and it even hurt a little, but she was also enjoying the fullness. When she came close to cumming again he pulled out and now she felt real pain in her asshole as Jacob plunged the thick bulbous head of his cock in.



“Breath, Michaela . . . breathe slowly. Relax.” She tried to relax and breathe and he pushed in deeper. The pain was intense and she wanted him to stop but she couldn’t find the words to tell him to and she didn’t know why. He started to thrust slowly in her asshole, moaning and saying, “Now I have all of you, my beautiful black wench. Now all of you belongs to me. Now I own you.” Then she felt his fingers working inside her cunt. “Now beg me to cum – beg your Master for release.”



Michaela tried to form the words but all she could get out was “please, please . . . .”



Jacob kept working his fingers and his cock and said, “Let go Michaela – surrender.”



Michaela inhaled and said without thinking, without caring, spoke from her heart: “Let your black wench cum Master! She needs to cum on her Master’s white cock – the only cock she will ever need. Teach your black slut what it means to be a slave to Master!” Jacob came hard inside Michaela’s ass and then pulled out. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. Then his fingers started to thrust hard in her cunt.



“Cum for your Master – cum, slut!” Michaela pushed back against Jacob’s fingers and let her orgasms overtake her, one after the other. When she thought she couldn’t take anymore, Jacob removed his fingers from her cunt and pinched her clit. She cried out and collapsed, tumbling to the floor in trembling spasms.



Jacob lay behind her, spooning her, rubbing her ass cheeks. Michaela’s ass stung from the spanking, her asshole felt raw and stung, and she was still feeling the aftershocks in her cunt and her clit. She concentrated on her breathing; every single part of her seemed sensitive. Jacob continued to rub her ass, petting her hair and face, whispering tender words in her ear. “Thank you sweet one. Thank you for your surrender.”



Michaela said barely above a whisper, “Who are you?” Jacob only smiled and continued to pet her. Then Michaela turned to face him, and said, “What did you mean last night when you said you’d ‘waited a lifetime for me’?”



He kissed her sweetly and said, “I’ve waited my whole life for a woman who would give herself to me completely. Let me fulfill every wanton desire. A woman who was a pure slut.” At the words “pure slut” Michaela felt horrified and Jacob saw it on her face. He laughed, “By ‘pure slut’ I mean a woman who is wanton and lascivious by nature, in her bones. In her soul – not by artifice or act. For the longest time I thought I would find such a woman in, well, the obvious places. But those women were only pretending for my benefit, or theirs. It wasn’t who they really were. I knew I wouldn’t find her where I expected to. But I didn’t think it would take this long.”



Michaela tried to measure her words carefully. “But when we met we hardly said three words to each other – how could you know? Or do you go around molesting every woman you meet?”



Jacob laughed and then he looked deep into her eyes. He said, “I knew when you first came into this room with me without hesitation that you were fearless. I knew when you first dropped down on your knees in front of me and watched my cock get hard and you didn’t run out of this room screaming that you were curious. And I knew when I kissed you the first time in this room and you looked like you wanted me to devour you that I had found you. And I knew when I fucked your virgin cunt and made you cum that I would never let anyone else fuck you again.” He put his hand firmly on Michaela’s face, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I knew then that you were mine. MINE.”



Michaela reached up, put her hand behind his head and pulled him down into a kiss. “Yes Master – yours. Only yours.” Jacob kissed her and he took his leave telling her that he had other pressing business to attend to and wouldn’t be able to see her again until his trouser fitting in another week.



Although Michaela didn’t see Jacob, he sent messages and letters. Some were fanciful and light-hearted; others would have made Caligula blush. As much as she missed his kisses and his touch she felt safe and held knowing she was His. He had sent word ahead about when he was coming in for his trouser fitting. Michaela sent her employees out to be sure they would have the shop to themselves. When Hallam came into the store, Michaela stood up from her work and slowly walked into the dressing room. Jacob followed, closing the curtain behind him. Michaela removed the finished cloak from the mannequin and stood behind Jacob to place it around his shoulders. He placed his arms inside, while she smoothed the fabric, carefully looking at the cut and fit in the mirror opposite. She was quite pleased with her work, and could see from the smile on Jacob’s face that he was as well. She stood in front of him and asked, “Does it please you, Sir? Does it fit well?”



“Very well. You do excellent work, Ms. MacGregor. You have exceeded your reputation.”



Michaela smiled at his praise, then removed the cloak and placed it back on the mannequin. Then she reached for the trousers that she had begun that needed to be re-measured. “If Sir will remove his trousers?”



Jacob looked at her and said, “That’s a job for Sir’s black wench.” Michaela put down the new trousers, and began to unfasten Jacob’s belt buckle. Then she started to undo the buttons. Without thinking, she reached inside to stroke Jacob’s cock which was already getting hard. She reached up to kiss Jacob, but he pulled his head back and stilled her hand. “Are you too much of a lusty whore to perform your duties? Do I need to teach you a lesson about how to serve your Master?” The look in his eyes told her that she needed to listen and obey. She bent down and removed his shoes and stocking, sliding his trousers down, letting him step out. She placed the new trousers at his feet so he could step into them. They were only rough cut-outs. She needed to pin them more for a better fit. She reached for her pin-cushion and Jacob said, “If you prick me, I will punish you.”



“Sir?”



“If you prick my skin with your pins, I will punish you – understand?”



“Yes Sir.” Michaela was a professional. With the exception of a very fidgety coffee merchant and occasionally rambunctious children, she could not remember the last time she had pricked a client. But with the threat of punishment looming over her, her hands were more unsteady than usual. She had difficulty maintaining her focus. Jacob had spanked her before and she assumed that was what he meant. It was more adrenaline than fear that was making her unsteady; she had no real fear of Jacob’s hand pinking up her ass. In a way, she looked forward to it. She tried to concentrate, but between the looming threat and Jacob’s bulging cock only inches away . . . . prick!



Jacob inhaled like a snake and said, “That’s one.” A moment later, prick! “That’s two.” Altogether she pricked him 4 times before she finished pinning him. Then came the delicate process of removing the trousers with the pins in. Prick number 5.



Jacob said, “Close the shop, lock the door, then return to me.” Michaela complied, and assumed a position to let him spank her, leaning over facing the mirror. Jacob immediately snatched her up and growled at her, “Who is the Master and who is the slave? Manner of punishment is not your choice, understand?”



Michaela trembled and said, “Yes Sir – sorry Sir. You’re the Master.” “Now take off your corset, I want to see your tits.” Michaela did so, and then Jacob reached for the pin cushion. “How many times did my black slave prick Me?”



“Five times, Sir.”



“Clasp your hands behind your head. If you remove them, I will double your punishment – understand?” Michaela placed her hands as Jacob said and said she understood. Jacob removed one pin from the cushion and showed it to her. Then he traced it delicately down her sternum, and around her left areola. Then the right. “I want you to count each one out loud. And I want you to say, ‘Thank You Sir – may I have another?’ Understood?”



“Understood Sir.” Michaela was trembling all over – what was he going to do? Was he going to draw blood? Cut her? Really cause her pain? Had she let this go too far? Suddenly she saw him – and felt him — quickly jab the needle into her right nipple. It was the quickest of stings, but in her erect sensitive nipple it radiated through her. She cried out and then remembered Sir’s threat. “One. Thank you Sir – may I have another?” This time it was the left nipple. “Two. Thank you Sir – may I have another?” The third and fourth he held the needle a little longer; and the fifth and final one longer still. There was no blood really; just the tiniest of pin-pricks. And the pain had not been excruciating just unfamiliar, stinging, and shocking. By the end she was panting and Jacob’s cock was as hard as marble.



He told her to put her arms down, and he kissed her sweetly. “Such a good wench. Now use your hand and make Master cum.” Michaela licked her right hand a couple times, then took Jacob’s hard throbbing cock in it and started to stroke it. Jacob started fucking Michaela’s mouth with his lips and his tongue. She stroked faster and harder, encouraged by every moan. One hand grabbed her ass while the other held her neck while he nibbled and kissed it, breathing heavily. Finally he came hard and Michaela smiled knowing she had pleased Him (and enjoying the fact that she could still wear this dress home without needing to clean it). He pulled her down to the floor with him and pulled up her petticoat. He removed her breeches and started to fondle her clit and her play with her wet cunt. She moaned at his touch, but when she got close to cumming he stopped and said, “I have another commission for you. I’m going to need another cloak and other winter things.”

My waitress Stella pushed a scrap of paper across the table. Her hand lingered for a second and my eyes were distracted by the glittery blue nail polish she wore. I wondered vaguely just how many different shades of polish she owned before my eyes landed on what she’d written. I stared in disbelief at what I saw: five letters, seven numbers, and a little heart drawn underneath.



“What’s this?” I looked up at her, confused, and she leaned close and smiled.



“My number, silly.”



“I can see that, but—”



“Elliot,” she said, drawing my name out slowly and leaning closer. Her voice had a teasing lilt to it, and her plump mouth curved in a knowing smile, drawing my full attention. “Do you really not know? I’ve been flirting with you for months, waiting for you to ask me out.” Her voice was low, but I glanced around unconsciously anyway, nervous of anyone listening. “I know you’re single. And I’ve seen you checking me out, so I’m pretty sure you’re not gay. I’m pretty sure you’re interested…”



She continued leaning closer, bringing her face level with mine, and my eyes slid from hers, drawn to the view she was giving me down the front of her orange and yellow striped top.



“I’ve been thinking maybe you’re too shy to ask, so…I decided I’d make it easier for you.”



She paused and crossed her arms below her breasts. I watched her cleavage rise like mercury in a thermometer and felt my body respond as a rush of arousal sent my blood pumping fast. I had to drag my eyes back to meet hers.



“I want to get to know you better, Elliot. Somewhere where we can sit and talk for a while.” She paused for a second, searching my eyes and then looked meaningfully at my coffee cup, which she’d just refilled. “How about coffee. Six-thirty. Ferris Bakery on Oaklawn Avenue.” Those were statements, not questions. She cocked her head, still smiling. “You know it?”



I nodded and managed to croak out a noise of affirmation, my eyes inadvertently dropping again and zeroing in on the deep cleft between her soft breasts. When I looked back up at her, her smile had grown and her eyes shone with excitement.



“Awesome,” she said brightly. “I’ll meet you there.”



And then she straightened, picked up the coffee carafe, turned, and flounced back to the kitchen, the fabric of her skirt swishing over her round backside, and I stared in complete disbelief, a little alarmed and a lot turned on.



She’d been my waitress for over a year, so she wasn’t a total stranger, but it would be a stretch to say we knew each other in any meaningful way, more of an artificial but pleasant and not uncomfortable way. I knew her, but I didn’t really know her, if you know what I mean.



I found it hard to believe she’d been flirting with me for months—with me. I’d noticed she was friendly, lingering at my table at times just to chat, touching my shoulder now and again when she laughed at something I said, but she was a naturally gregarious person, full of energy and always smiling, so I’d just assumed the attention she gave me was nothing special, it was simply how she treated her customers. But apparently I was wrong, as unbelievable as that sounded to me.



Her name seemed a perfect fit for her personality: Stella, Latin for star. She had a bright intensity, a friendly, open attitude about her, and the self confidence she possessed only made her seem brighter, more vibrant. She withheld nothing, voicing her opinions without hesitation, laughing easily and often, her face always busy with emotion. Many times I’d marveled at how comfortable she was in her own body, in the way she looked—her colorful clothes, her bright silver jewelry, the dyed streak of fire-engine red in her dark hair, and the way she moved through the room and the world. She had a power about her, an intangible something that people responded to. I could see it in the faces of her regular customers, the way they lit up when she greeted them. I know I never left the cafe without feeling a little better than I did when I came in. Even in the darkest days of my divorce, Stella made the world seem a little brighter.



And while she wasn’t a classic beauty or a super model, she was beautiful, without question. She had big brown eyes and skin the color of caramel, possibly the result of bi-racial parentage, and a smattering of freckles across her nose, like stars. Her long, dark hair was wavy and she wore it in a thousand different configurations—up and down, braided and pinned, short then long, then short again, and more often than not, there was a streak or two of artificial color in it—bright red, copper orange, and once, even a deep purple. Before I met her I might have dismissed her as insecure, that her outrageous dress and hair were just bids for attention, but after being around her for a while, it was obvious that the way she looked, the way she dressed, the many tiny star tattoos that circled one wrist and swirled up her arm were all physical manifestations of her colorful personality.



I liked her. She was impossible not to like, and I confess to having looked at her from a less objective point of view than I normally viewed women. She didn’t dress provocatively, but the striped leggings, the flared skirts and snug-fitting shirts drew and caught my eye, and once she had my attention, I found it hard to look away, impossible not to follow the curves of her body as she turned and moved. So, even though I’d never dreamed she’d be interested in me, never dreamed she’d be a woman I could approach, let alone have anything in common with, I did allow myself to check her out now and then; I’m only human, after all.



She was around 5’4″ with a full backside and breasts—curvaceous in a sensual way, the lines of her young body pulled my eyes along like a car on a roller coaster. She inhabited her body with remarkable ease, her hips swaying and her breasts bouncing as she hustled around the room filling coffee and removing empty plates. And smiling—always smiling. She was the definition of sexy, a word I had let slip from my vocabulary ten years into my marriage.



The last time I’d been on a date I was in college. That was more than twenty-five years ago. It was an understatement to say I was out of practice with women. I definitely was, but more than that, I was out of my depths with a beautiful young woman like Stella, and utterly confused by her advance. What did she want? Was she really attracted to me? Was this a date to her, or just what she’d said—coffee, a chance to get to know each other better? Somehow, given the way she’d presented her lovely breasts to my view, the way she’d waited, making sure I looked, and the smile she’d worn once my eyes had made their way back to hers, I thought—however insane the idea was—that she wanted more than conversation.



The bakery was crowded inside, but I caught sight of Stella right away. She was at the counter talking with a good-looking guy her age. He had a huge smile on his face, a smile I recognized from other customers in the cafe when they talked with Stella, one I suspected I wore as well when she lingered at my table to chat. She was wearing a tailored, yellow denim jacket and a peacock blue skirt that ended just above her knees. I was accustomed to seeing her in tights and leggings, often patterned or bright colors, but tonight her legs were bare, and instead of the usual her usual work footwear—a seemingly endless variety of colorful sneakers with even more colorful laces—she had on a pair of heeled shoes in a shiny yellow patent leather.



I watched her toss her head as she chatted, saw the boy smile back, obviously entranced, and thought they looked like a good couple—same age, both attractive. So how it me, meeting her? When she turned and saw me and smiled, I felt warm all over and the how seemed much less important.



“You made it,” she said. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.” She clasped her hands in front of her face, grinning, and when she spoke her voice went momentarily shrill, her words caught in a squeal of delight. “I’m so excited!”



“I uh—I did,” I said lamely, taken aback by her genuine enthusiasm. I was aware of the boy behind the counter staring at me with interest. I couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. “Have you been waiting?”



“No, just got here.” She continued to smile, her eyes focused on mine. “Your timing is perfect.”



We got coffees, paused at the bar next to the cash register so she could add cream and sugar—three sugars, I noticed—and headed toward a table at the far side of the room. It was crowded and I followed Stella, noticing how easily she navigated the maze of chairs and elbows and heads—clearly a skill she’d picked up waiting tables.



She took off her jacket at the table and draped it on the back of her chair before she sat down, and my eyes were drawn to the pale yellow top she was wearing, or, to be more specific, the way it draped across her breasts and the unmistakable protrusion of hard nipples beneath the thin fabric.



“Wow, it’s totally packed in here,” she observed, glancing around the room. “I hope you don’t mind.”



I shook myself and sat down.



“No, I don’t mind at all.”



“Good. I love this place. They make the best cupcakes and cakes.” She smiled. “Sooo…Elliot.” She picked up her cupcake and began to peel the paper from the bottom, her head tilted slightly in amusement as she did. “I have a zillion questions to ask you.”



“You do? A zillion?”



“At least. I want to know all about you. Tell me everything.”



She took a bite of her cupcake and looked at me expectantly. I was surprised by the way she leaped into the conversation—no chit chat, no warm-up—and not sure how to respond. Not to mention, her interest in me was confusing. Exciting, but confusing.



“That’s a pretty broad topic…what do you want to know?”



She shrugged, her mouth still full.



“Ah, let’s see. Not a lot to tell.” I wasn’t sure what about me would interest her, or what I had to share that she’d want to hear, but as I searched my brain for something of interest, I realized just how true it was; there wasn’t much to tell. What had I done with my life so far? What had I accomplished?



“I work downtown, at the courthouse as a clerk,” I said. “It sounds more important than it is,” I added, seeing her expression of interest. “It’s interesting, but it’s more or less a glorified secretarial position.”



“Secretaries are what keep businesses running,” she said matter-of-factly. “Big wigs would lose their wigs without a good secretary.”



She took a sip of her coffee, still studying me.



“That’s true, but it’s not a very glamorous job.”



“Hmm. Not like waiting tables,” she said. “Now that’s glamorous. Everybody wants to be a waitress.”



I laughed, my embarrassment eased a little.



“Tell me more,” she said, picking up her cupcake again. “Tell me where you live. What do you like to do? Hobbies, sports, all that. You were married, right? Tell me about that—about your wife. Did you guys have kids? Pets?”



“Woah,” I said, laughing. “Slow down.”



“Told you,” she said, looking at me seriously. “I have a zillion questions. This is just the tip of the iceberg, mister.”



I answered each question in turn while she finished her cupcake, a self-conscious excitement building inside me. My whole body was buzzing with a strange arousal. I hadn’t talked so much about myself in my whole life, and to have this beautiful girl’s attention on me as I did was a heady experience. Every question I answered made her think of two more, and her interest in everything I said seemed genuine.



She wasn’t afraid to ask direct or personal questions, which I found as refreshing as I found it frightening. I couldn’t believe the things I was saying out loud, let alone out loud in a crowded bakery. I was grateful for the chaotic atmosphere and the music as I was pretty sure no one around us could hear.



She wanted to know all about my wife and our marriage, and as I told her, she reacted with such honest emotion I found myself describing the way our sex life had dwindled, how my wife’s modesty had grown and I, through what I thought was love and respect for her doubts about her body and her sexual desire, had given her more space, leaving her feeling even more conflicted and insecure.



“Her childhood was more strict than mine,” I said. “I had my share of Catholic guilt about sex, but it was nothing compared to hers. I guess it’s harder for women.



“Looking back, I’m not sure she ever enjoyed sex. Maybe when we were in college, when we first met it was exciting and new, but after we got married…” I trailed off, remembering. “I think she tried, but her beliefs were at odds with her desires, and by the time our son left for college the space between us was just too big, and she had filled that space with religion,” I said. The painful memory stung for a second. “So in a way, she didn’t need me anymore; she had God.”



“Ironic,” Stella commented. “Sounds like religion is what made sex a problem to begin with.”



I nodded, impressed by her astute observation. “Exactly.”



“I feel bad for your wife,” she continued. “I mean, I can tell it was no picnic for you, but she’s really missing out, not enjoying sex. I know it’s not the most important thing in life, but it’s a really nice thing in life, you know? We spend so much of our lives feeling miserable and worrying about things. It’s a shame sex can’t just be fun and relaxing. Instead, it makes people feel guilty and sinful.”



I watched her chase a pink sprinkle across her saucer until she trapped it under her finger. “I love sex,” she said dreamily, almost to herself. Then she lifted her finger to her mouth and her eyes to mine and watched me watch her wrap her lips around her fingertip and suck. She withdrew the finger with a soft kissing sound and smiled. “Don’t you?”



“I—ah…” My words left me for a moment and I noticed with alarm that I was getting hard.



“Drive me home, Eliot,” she said, shifting her weight and standing. “We can talk more in the car.”



The abrupt change of focus confused me for a second, but I followed her lead, watching her shrug her yellow jacket on. She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder and smiled at me. No, she beamed. “Where did you park?”



She followed me out onto the street into the chilly spring evening. Immediately she looped her arm through mine and pressed herself against my side. I tried not to show my shock, but I was pretty sure she saw it in my face when she looked up at me.



“Oooh it’s cold,” she squealed. “What is this? I thought it was Spring.”



I caught sight of our reflection in the window of the dark store next to the bakery and stared, almost surprised to see it was real. There was bright Stella, in yellow and blue, clinging to my arm, while I nearly disappeared into the dim evening in my grey suit. But it was real—I felt the heat of her body and the pressure of her elbow linked with mine.



“Which way?” She tugged at my arm lightly and I shook myself and looked around, not sure at first which way I’d come.



We walked for a few blocks, Stella hanging on my arm, still asking questions. I was aware of people glancing at us and wondered if they thought I was her father, if they even noticed me at all. I knew why they were looking at her; she was nearly impossible to ignore.



We were a block from the car when I managed to turn the conversation around. I’d been longing to ask my own questions all evening, but she’d dominated the conversation so skillfully I hadn’t had a chance.



“Enough about me. It’s your turn,” I said. “Tell me about you.”



I listened with interest as she spoke, stealing glances as we walked, enjoying the curves of her profile, my eyes lingering on her plump lips. Each new fact she relayed was more surprising than the last.



“I grew up in total chaos. I had a very loving family, but they were a mess—big on vices and with no self control. They’re not mean or violent or anything like that, but they can’t resist pleasure and they can’t help but go to the extreme.” She paused, thoughtful for a second. “I guess I should include myself in that, but I’m not nearly as out of control as my mom and her siblings. I think I have at least a little self-control.”



She looked at me then and when I met her eye she smiled slyly, a hint of a wink in the way her eyes narrowed.



“Anyway,” she said, holding my gaze for a few heartbeats, and making my heart race. “They’re all big drinkers, and gamblers and womanizers, well the men anyway. My mom wasn’t into gambling, but she was a real pleasure-seeker. She was really young when she started having sex. I don’t know how young, but she had me when she was 16.



“There was always drama in the house—my uncles were always getting into trouble, getting arrested and stuff. They were wild, and my grandmother couldn’t do anything to tame them. Believe me, she tried. She was tireless. Kind of scary to think of how much more trouble they would have gotten into if she hadn’t been there.”



Stella sighed and I felt her snuggle against me a little more, as if seeking my warmth or comfort. “My poor grandmother. She was the most devoted and patient mother, but she had her hands full with my mom and her brothers. I honestly think they just wore her out. And my grandfather was great, but not any help in that respect—he just left it all to her to sort out because she was the woman and the kids were her job. She always said she felt more like a lion tamer than a mother.”



Stella was quiet for a second and I glanced at her, wondering what she was thinking.



“You were close to your grandmother?” I guessed.



“Oh yeah, we all were. I mean, her kids were a mess, but they loved her. Even my uncles and my mom—when they left, they still called her all the time.”



“Your mom left?”



We’d reached my car and I held the door as she slid into the passenger seat. My mind was busy with her story, but my eyes didn’t miss the sight of her legs as she lifted them and swung them into the car, giving me the briefest glimpse of her smooth inner thigh beneath her skirt.



I closed the car door and came around the back, aware again of how turned on I felt. A thought raced through my brain with equal parts alarm and excitement: I’m driving her home. Would she want me to come in? Would I, if she asked?



“She just couldn’t do it,” Stella continued once I was seated in the car. “She was just a kid when I was born. I mean she was young, but she was also really immature emotionally. She wasn’t ready to be a mom, she wanted to keep partying and having fun, so she took off.”



“She just left?” I asked, amazed.



“Just didn’t come home one night. She’d done it before, but she’d always shown up early in the morning, so it didn’t scare my grandparents too much at the time, but then she called the next day and said she wasn’t coming back for a while. She’d hitched a ride with some guy and was going to Florida.”



“She didn’t come back?” I was incredulous.



“Oh, she did. But not for three years, and then she didn’t stay for long before she met some other guy and went off with him. She called all the time, though, and after a while I think I just didn’t think it was weird she wasn’t here.



“I don’t remember missing her, really. That probably sounds awful, but I had my grandparents, and the house was always busy with neighbors and family friends around…and I had school friends, and cousins.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, it sounds worse than it was. I mean, it was hard on my grandmother, it’s probably what killed her—the stress—but I had a very happy childhood.”



She shifted her legs, uncrossing and crossing them again, and I couldn’t help my sideways glance. She saw me looking and smiled.



“What else do you want to know?”



I was still recovering from all the information she’d given me, unable to imagine a family in so much trouble. Stella was impulsive, that was obvious, but she didn’t seem reckless, not self-destructive like that, but I couldn’t help wondering if she was less in control than she seemed.

It took me a minute to compose my thoughts. Once I did, I asked a few simple questions—whether she was a student, how long she’d lived in the city, if she lived alone and she answered each just as simply, interrupting herself a few times to give me directions toward her neighborhood.



“What do you really want to ask me, Eliot?” She turned her body slightly so her torso was facing me and I felt her looking at me carefully. “I mean really ask me.”



An understatement. I had so many questions, I wasn’t sure where to start.



“Surely you have a boyfriend?” I blurted out.



She laughed and shook her head.



“No, not really,” she said. “I have a lover, though.”



“A lover?” I couldn’t help my curious interest.



“Yeah, he’s someone I’ve known forever. We’re not a couple or anything, just, you know, lovers.”



She said it casually, but I could see her watching my reaction.



“Ira’s older—maybe a little younger than you are—and he lives in California, so he’s not around much, but when he is, he stays for a week or two. He has family around here.”



A hundred new questions popped into my head, but I was quiet for a second, letting the words soak into my brain. She had a lover. An older lover. Younger than me, but that made him at least in his 40′s.



“We see other people, though. Neither of us wants a relationship. And it just wouldn’t work out anyway, with the distance, so we’re not really a couple. Actually, he encouraged me to approach you.”



“He did?” I looked at her with surprise.



She nodded. “I told him about you.”



“About me?” My body reacted immediately. I felt myself go hot and the ache in my lap intensified.



She nodded again. “Mmhmm.”



I wasn’t sure what she could have told him, but decided I didn’t want to ask. I turned my attention back to the road.



“I told him you hadn’t asked me out, even though I’d been super obvious about being interested in you. Jesus, I practically draped myself all over you, Eliot. How’d you miss that?” She laughed to herself, and her teasing only made me grow harder. “Anyway, Ira told me I should just ask you out. So I did.”



I shifted in my seat, wishing I could adjust myself to make room for my aching erection.



“Anything else you want to know?”



Only a hundred things. Only everything. Who was this guy—her mysterious older lover who wanted her to ask me out? What kind of relationship did they have that he’d actually encourage her to date? Who did that?



“He’s really OK with you dating other men?”



“Sure. We don’t have a normal relationship. I mean, it’s…well, it’s complex, you know? The age thing, and the fact that it’s long distance, and…well, it just wouldn’t make sense for us to be a couple. We’re really close, though. It’s not just about the sex.”



The word seemed to hang in the air for a few seconds, lingering between us, tainting the air the way the sweet strawberry scent of Stella did when she was nearby.



“But there are too many things about it that would make it weird as a relationship. So…”



It seemed like she was holding something back, but I wasn’t sure what. I didn’t want to press her, but my curiosity about this man had been stirred up.



“What does he do?”



“Ira? Oh, he’s a personal trainer in LA. He helps people work out.” She laughed. “And they pay him ridiculous amounts of money. I think some of his clients are celebrities or something, I don’t know.” She waved her hand in the air dismissively, her silver bracelets jingling musically. “I don’t care about celebrities, all I know is he works out for a living, so it’s pretty much his dream come true.”



An image popped into my head, unbidden, of a good looking, muscular middle-aged man with a California tan and a gleaming smile. Why, if she had that guy, was she interested in me? And where did this sudden feeling of insecurity come from?



“Is it too weird?” She looked at me carefully. “Are you freaked out?”



“No,” I said quickly. “It’s just…”



She reached out and her hand touched mine for just a second, her fingers light and hot on my skin. “Because I like you, Eliot. I know I’m really forward and probably making you uncomfortable, but I’ve been wanting to get to know you for so long. I think you’re really sweet…”



I stared ahead blankly, my pulse growing faster, my thickening penis so constricted by the layers of fabric it was beginning to hurt.



“And now that I’ve gotten to talk to you a little, I want to know you even better. I want you to come back to my apartment, Eliot. Tonight.”



I didn’t look at her, but there could be no mistaking her intentions at that moment; the car was full of an electric desire.



“I don’t know, Stella,” I said, half alarmed, half dazed. I wanted to say yes, but I wasn’t sure I could handle her, and that was the truth. “I think…I think you’re out of my league.”



I spared a quick glance and saw her face transform into exaggerated excitement. “You’re in a league? Cool! What one? The League of Sexy Civil Servants?”



I laughed nervously. Had she just called me sexy?



“What are you worried about? Is it the age difference?”



“No,” I said. “Well, yes, a little, but not really. What I mean to say is, I think I’m not…I don’t have…”



I could feel her still looking at me, even as she directed me up residential streets toward her apartment. I had no idea what I was worried about, but I knew I felt in over my head. This girl was wild, impulsive, and highly sexual. She was the kind of girl my mother would have warned me about if we’d ever had such conversations.



And while her advance was exciting beyond belief, and I felt better at this moment than I’d felt in decades, I wasn’t sure I could hold my own, so to speak. She had far more experience than I did, and the idea was thrilling, but terrifying at the same time. I was twice her age. Could I keep up with her? Could I compare with Ira?



“It’s been a long time…” I said finally, recognizing that the statement didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I was feeling at that moment.



“How long?”



I tried to remember the last time my wife and I had had sex. I couldn’t.



“Too long to remember,” I admitted.



She put her hand on my arm and leaned closer.



“Then you definitely need to come in,” she said, not looking out the windshield. “I’m all the way at the end of this street. 236. On the right. You can pull up in front of the house and park on the street.”



My heart surged and for a half a minute neither of us spoke as I pulled up in front of a dark, two-story brick building.



“What are you worried about?” She asked again.



I turned off the motor and looked at her. She seemed so much closer than before. Her expressive brown eyes showed curiosity and concern; she was taking me very seriously. I could smell her perfume or shampoo, something soft and girly with an edge of sweetness to it.



“I’m not that scary am I?”



I didn’t answer. In part because I was scared and it seemed ludicrous, but also because she was leaning toward me, coming closer. Her hand touched my knee and I jumped, the contact reverberating through my whole body, cranking up my arousal.



I have heard that in times of intense stress or emotion a person can dissociate from the actual events and view them as if from afar, disconnected and protected to a degree from the sensory experiences. Maybe that’s what happened to me as Stella leaned close. I calmly observed the fullness of her pink lips, noticed the brief glimpse of her tongue as she wet them, and felt the slow movement of her hand as it crept higher and higher up my thigh. I’d never thought a kiss could be traumatic, but the closer Stella’s mouth got to mine, the more I knew without a doubt she was about to turn my whole world upside down; nothing would be the same again.



She didn’t close her eyes at first. She pressed her lips to mine and kissed me softly. She watched me for a second and I could feel her testing me, waiting to see if I’d object. When I didn’t, she closed her eyes and kissed me again, her lips unbelievably soft against mine. Meanwhile, her hand crept higher still and I caught myself gripping my seat in tense anticipation. My head felt heavy and thick as I began to feel the pleasure, my rational brain no longer holding me back, and when I finally kissed her back she reacted with a tiny hum of excitement.



I was hard and aching and her hand still moved upward, stroking my thigh, intensifying the discomfort I was feeling. It was almost impossible to not shift in my seat and adjust myself to give my erection room to grow, but at the same time I felt frozen in place, afraid to do anything that might break the spell.



Stella’s tongue split my lips and she turned her head slightly, angling the kiss, dragging her tongue along my bottom lip. I groaned and then groaned again as she sucked my lip between her teeth briefly. The heat and the pressure made my distressed erection throb painfully, and then her hand slid across it and I groaned a third time, louder and with more than a little desperation.



She drew back and I could see the excitement in her expression. She looked down, her hand just teasingly running along the length of my penis. When she looked back up at me she smiled, pleased.



“Stella…” I thought I should assert myself, slow things down, or stop them somehow. I had no idea how.



“Come inside, Eliot,” she said softly. “We can do anything. Anything you want…and we can go slow…and if all you want to do is talk, we can do that…”



I was turned on and thrilled by the situation, but I was afraid too. I was afraid of my own inexperience, and a little afraid of her. I knew it was ridiculous, but nothing I’d ever done in my life had prepared me for this—for a headstrong woman’s sexual appetite.



“Stella, I don’t think—”



“Just come inside,” she said. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. OK? I won’t hurt you, silly.”



I managed a nervous laugh.



“But I warn you: I have a few tricks, and I’m not afraid to use them.”



There was a note of seriousness in her teasing, and I had no doubt she had at her disposal many tricks. I also had no doubt I’d fold, that it wouldn’t take much to convince me to stay. She certainly didn’t have to convince me to follow her, and soon she was turning a key in a dark doorway at the back of the house. She led me through into complete darkness and as the door clicked shut behind me I felt my heart jump.



She flicked on the light and I found myself standing at the bottom of a narrow, wooden staircase. The floor was littered with discarded shoes and behind me I found Stella shrugging her way out of her coat at the same time she was adding her shoes to the pile. I paused, staring for a second at her bare feet and the glitter of her toenails, noticing it matched her fingers.



“No shoes upstairs,” she said, and I almost took a step back when she knelt in front of me and began to untie them. “If you don’t mind.”



With her face level with my crotch and the strange, intimate sensation as she untied each of my shoes and held them as I stepped out, I felt my whole body go hot. My erection had waned a little since we’d left the car, but the close proximity to Stella’s mouth perked it right back up. She put my shoes to the side and paused for a half a second, looking up at me with eyes full of suggestive desires.



The whole scene was surreal to me. Nothing, I mean nothing in my life had been half this exciting. I tried to reach back into my memory to find something to compare it to, but nothing came close. My first kiss? The first time I’d had sex? I wondered if I’d even been alive all those years.



When she stood she trailed her hand up my body letting it stop on my growing erection at the same time she stood up on her tip toes, offering her mouth for a kiss. I didn’t hesitate to meet her and she let her hand continue up my body, traveling up my chest to curl around my neck and pull me closer, more deeply into the kiss. At the same time she pressed herself against me, trapping my erection between us and making my mind go temporarily blank from the pleasure. Oh, she knew some tricks, alright.



She drew back, letting go of me and turned, making her way up the stairs. I followed without needing an invitation and enjoyed the view I had of her backside twitching beneath the silky fabric of her skirt as she climbed the stairs. She unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and stepped through into darkness. I trailed behind and waited until she turned on the light.



The room we entered was a riot of color and for a moment I was struck by how familiar it seemed until I realized it looked like Stella—exactly the way I would have imagined her apartment to be decorated. It was tiny, a kitchen and dining area on the far wall, two doors to our right I assumed were a bathroom and a bedroom, and the living room in which we stood.



She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the apartment, closing the door behind me, and twirled around excitedly, her skirt flaring as she did, the hem rising on her thighs.



“Oh my God, this is so exciting,” she squealed. “You have no idea.”



I would have been incredulous, but she didn’t give me time. She backed away from me, her expression pure delight. “Just give me one minute, OK?”



I was stunned and for a second just stared as she retreated and entered one of the rooms to our right, closing the door softly behind her. Then I took in my surroundings, still in a daze. There were bookcases crammed with books and CD’s, a long couch covered with bright, patterned pillows. On the walls were hung large pieces of printed fabric in rich, earthy reds and golds, giving the room a warm, cozy feeling.



My eye was drawn to a bulletin board near the kitchen—or more specifically, to the photos pinned there. I scanned them, smiling each time I recognized Stella in one of her many incarnations. One showed her with a group of older men and women and I guessed they were her family—they had the exact same mischievous smile. Another showed her with some people who looked to be her age, friends I assumed, and then my eyes were drawn to one of her and a man with dark hair. I judged him to be a few years younger than me, in his 40′s, with wavy hair to his shoulders and a wide smile. He had his arm around Stella’s shoulder and she was laughing, open-mouthed, looking beautiful. They looked totally at ease, and completely happy. He was very good looking, and I was surprised to find my spirits sinking as I compared myself to him, certain this was her lover, Ira.



He seemed virile and strong, although it was hard to tell his physique by what little showed in the photo, but the arm around her shoulder had muscles mine never had. I remembered her saying he worked out for a living and felt my heart sink; I’d never lifted a weight in my life.



I knew I wasn’t an ugly man, but I was no prize catch either. My blonde hair was thinning, my face was lined, and my body was undeniably the body of a man who had done nothing more strenuous in his life than run to catch the bus. I hadn’t gained weight in middle age the way some of my friends had, if anything I felt thinner and bonier than ever, but I felt each and every one of my 47 years weighing me down.



I stared at the photo, imagining Stella must feel very safe in those strong arms. Ira’s expression was so confident, so relaxed, like he had no cares in the world and all the energy to shower Stella with the love and affection she deserved. I sighed, feeling a little defeated.



Stella appeared at my elbow and ran her hand up my arm.



“Ohh,” she said as she leaned against me, looking at the photo and then up at my face. I felt her studying me, but couldn’t tear my eyes away from the photo. “That’s not a happy expression,” she observed.



She tugged at my arm I tore my eyes from those grinning faces, giving her my full attention.



“It’s freaking you out, isn’t it?” she said, looking uncertain. “That I have this other lover.”



I shook my head. “No, it’s not that.” I realized it was true; I didn’t mind that she had other lovers. “That doesn’t bother me. I’m not jealous either. It’s more that I can’t understand…” I glanced over at the photo again without thinking. “What you could possibly see in me compared to him?”



“Well, what’s so wrong with you?” she asked. She took both my hands and put them on her waist.



I laughed uncomfortably. “I’m not a young man anymore, Stella. I’m not fit or muscular…I’m losing my hair…I’m—”



“Just how shallow do you think I am, Eliot?” She gave me an exaggerated expression of offense. “You think I’m only attracted to one kind of man? Besides, sexy just is, you can’t explain it, and I think you’re sexy, what else is there to say?”



“You think I’m sexy.” I repeated, my voice complete disbelief. “Stella, I’m not sexy.”



She laughed, her bright face stretching in a grin and she ran her hands up my chest slowly, following the edges of my jacket lapels.



“That’s not what I think,” she said smiling a hungry smile.



“But—”



“Oh whatever. Your opinion doesn’t matter.” She stepped a little closer and continued moving her hands up my chest. “You don’t get to tell me what turns me on.”



I knew she had a point—that explaining attraction wasn’t always straight forward, but still…



“I don’t know what it is, Eliot. I know I like talking with you, and you’re nice. Nice can be sexy, you know,” she added, seeing my expression of disappointment. “I like your smile, and your blue eyes, and the creases around your mouth when you laugh.” My hands twitched involuntarily against her waist. I could tell she was being honest, she wasn’t just stringing me along or stroking my ego.



“I like that you’re so smart, and generous…and sweet. To be honest, I’ve never been with a guy who was sweet like you are. I don’t know…I just wondered what you were like, what it would be like to be with you. I was curious.”



I stared at her, not sure what to think. Was I just a sexual lark? And if so, was that a bad thing?



“And the more I thought about you, the more I wondered what you were really like, the more I wanted to know. You’re always so polite. You’re like…a total gentleman.”



“Ira’s not a gentleman?” I asked before I could stop myself; it sounded so jealous.



“Oh my God,” she laughed. “No! Ira is…oh man, Ira’s just Ira.” She shook her head. “He’s…I don’t even know.” She laughed again and I wanted to press her for more details but she spoke before I could, and the more serious tone of her voice made me listen instead.



“Eliot,” she said softly. “I want you. I mean, I really want you—right now. Just you.” She slid her hands higher and began to remove my jacket. There was something persuasive in the gentle tone of her voice and I realized she was trying to reassure me. “You worry too much. I’m turned on by you, isn’t that enough? Let’s just let it happen. Nothing else matters but right now, right here. You and me.”



Reluctantly I let my hands slip from her waist and allowed her to push my jacket from my arms. I watched her drape it carefully over the arm of the couch, understanding what she was saying. I knew I was being a fool to even worry about Ira when she obviously had every intention of seducing me.



“Just let it happen,” she said. “Let it feel good.”



She stepped backward, leading me toward the room she’d disappeared into a minute earlier, and excitement dulled my insecurity. I let her pull me silently toward the open door.



My heart quickened as we entered and immediately I could feel myself getting hard again when I spotted the bed against one wall and knew that was our destination. I took in the room in one quick scan, barely looking, but my eye pausing on a few things—an overflowing closet displaying an impressive array of color, an untidy bookshelf full of novels, and above the bed a print of what looked like a stained glass window in deep cobalt blue with images of birds and stars rising up.

I let her lead me and then turn me around until the bed was just behind me. She slid my hands to her waist and her own up and over my chest, reaching for my neck to pull me close for a kiss. I thought about resisting, but it was a fleeting thought, engulfed by a rising feeling of lust. Her lips touched mine, her fingers curled against my neck, and we kissed with a passion that surprised me, it was so intense.



She felt it too. Her mouth opened against mine and sighed, pulling at my neck as if she could pull me any closer. Then her hands were working at my buttons, making swift progress downward, and in what seemed like an impossibly short amount of time, she had my chest bared and was pushing the sleeves down my arms. Through it all, her mouth didn’t leave mine, and her kisses grew more and more forceful. I’d only ever kissed my wife, and never with this much passion, so the way she varied her kisses from slow and deep and passionate, building to an almost fevered, desperate pace punctuated with little gasps of delight was intoxicating. I felt completely at her mercy.



When my arms were free of my shirt sleeves she let the fabric drop and turned her attention to the front of my trousers. She drew back then and her motions slowed as she drew my belt from the buckle.



“I’m going to guess your wife didn’t like giving blow jobs,” she said, slipping the leather from my belt loops. I should have been used to her candid language by now, but the direct comment startled me. “I’ve heard it’s the first thing to go.”



Two deft movements and she had my button undone and my zipper lowered. She was obviously experienced, and I knew I should be grateful for that—I was sure I was in for a hell of a ride, so I tried not to think of how many times before or with how many men she’d done this very thing, maybe in this very position by this very bed.



“Well, I like giving blow jobs,” she said, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. “In fact, I’ve been dying to suck your cock, Eliot. For months.”



I gasped involuntarily. My wife and I had never used language like that, nothing so provocative. If we’d had reason to talk at all during sex, I’m sure we would have used more clinical terminology. It had been a long time since I’d thought of my penis as a cock.



Stella smiled, reading my expression and liking what she saw. I felt her tugging at the waistband of my trousers and shorts, beginning to ease the fabric down my hips.



“I’m going to suck your cock until you come,” she continued, her voice even softer. “I want you to come. I want you to fill my mouth.”



I groaned, not sure I’d last a minute.



She continued easing my pants lower, still looking deep into my eyes. I felt the fabric slide over my erection and felt it bob forward, finally freed from the confines of my trousers. I had a moment of self doubt. Would I satisfy her? Would I measure up to her other lovers — to Ira?



“I want you to empty yourself in my mouth and I’ll drink every drop of your cum.”



“Oh Jesus,” I swore. “Stella.”



The girl was outrageous. Thrilling. She let the fabric go slack in her hands and it slid down my legs, pooling at my feet. I was ready to step out of it when she spoke again.



“Just one thing you have to do for me.”



She wrapped her hand around my cock and I froze.



“What’s that?” I croaked.



“Tell me to do it.”



I stared at her blankly. “What?”



She nodded and began moving her hand slowly up and down the length of my erection, with the lightest touch, her skin silky against mine.



“Tell me to suck your cock. I want to hear you say it.”



“Oh God.”



I’d never thought talk like this would turn me on, but the words coming out of Stella’s full lips were awakening a long suppressed lust.



“Say it,” she whispered.



She kissed me once and then dropped to her knees in front of me and I let out a groan as I stared at the fantastic scene before me—Stella on her knees, looking up at me, my cock in her hand. She stroked me slowly and waited.



“Tell me, Eliot. Tell me what you want me to do.”



I opened my mouth, but couldn’t form the words. Too many years of suppressing my desire had left me with an unreasonable fear. They were only words, but I couldn’t free them.



She tilted her head and dropped it slightly, bringing her open mouth to the base of my cock. I felt the heat of her breath, but no contact, as she blew across my skin.



“I’m very good at this,” she promised. I had no trouble believing her.



She dropped her head lower and blew again, sending a chill through me as her breath spread out over my scrotum. Just above her head, her hand still stroked me slowly and lightly.



“I know you want to feel my mouth on your cock.”



She lifted her head again and touched me with her open mouth. For just a second her tongue flicked out, grazing the skin at the base of my cock. I groaned as a shock of pleasure zipped through me. I saw her smile and repeat the motion, this time letting her tongue make contact a little longer.



“To feel my lips around it.” She licked again. “To feel it sliding over my tongue…” She licked again, moving upward now, and I watched in rapt surprise as she slowly made her way up, her hand cradling my cock as she did. “Don’t you want to know how deep I can suck you?” She reached the head of my cock dragged her tongue up and down over the underside, applying pressure to the sensitive ridge just below the head.



“Tell me,” she prompted. “Tell me you want me to suck your cock.”



I groaned her name and watched her angle my cock away from my body toward her mouth. I wanted it, I wanted everything she was promising me, but the words still stuck in my throat.



She opened her mouth and brought the tip of my cock to her wet lips. She extended her tongue and laid the blunt head in the trough of her tongue and looked up at me expectantly.



“Holy shit,” I swore as the heat of her tongue seared the skin of my cock. I could feel her soft breath moving up the length of my shaft and thought I would come right there and then, whether she sucked me or not.



She flexed her tongue and I felt her hand curl around my balls, cupping them in her palm.



“Oh God, Stella,” I gasped, my words exploding from my mouth. “Suck me.”



Her lips closed and the shock of her touch and my own request sent a powerful surge through me, making my head swim with pleasure. She swirled her tongue around the head of my cock for a moment and then pushed her head forward, taking me into her soft, velvet mouth, drawing a long and desperate, “Jesus Christ” from me.



She drew back and the sight of my thick cock wet with her saliva thrilled me. She smiled as she let the head pop from between her lips.



“Say it again,” she said, and waited, looking up at me while she stroked me with one hand, her other hand gently kneading my balls. “I love it. It’s so fucking sexy, Eliot.”



I stared in disbelief at her genuine enthusiasm. My wife had never enjoyed oral sex, but here was this girl—this beautiful girl half my age who appeared to want nothing more than for me to tell her to suck my cock. She was unbelievably sexy.



She closed her lips around the head again and held it there, her hand moving up and down the shaft, her silver bracelets making music as they touched. She did something with her tongue on the underside of my cock at the same time her hand shifted between my legs and I felt an intense pressure build, thick with pleasure, but so overwhelming I thought I would faint.



“Fuuck,” I groaned. “Oh Stella.” I didn’t usually swear, but Stella was pulling every foul word out of me with her clever tongue. She turned her head, her lips still tight around the head of my cock, and looked up at me. She was waiting for me to say it again, and I was pretty sure she’d wait a long time, holding me here in this agonizing state of painful pleasure. Her brow twitched slightly, a subtle pleading; she wanted it as much as I did.



“Suck me,” I said in a strained voice. “Suck my cock, Stella.”



She made a noise of excitement and moved her head forward, letting me slide between her lips. She bobbed her head then, the suction tight but gradually lessening as her pace increased. I knew I wasn’t going to last long.



“Oh God, oh God,” I moaned. “God, Stella…” I tried to hold my orgasm off, to turn my mind to something else, anything but the exquisite sensation of this young girl’s talented mouth sliding up and down my cock, but it was impossible. I closed my eyes, but the sound of her wet mouth and the little hungry noises she was making filled my ears. It was obvious there was no way, apart from pushing her off of me, I would be able to delay coming.



She seemed to sense it, I don’t know how, but she drew her lips off long enough to gasp a breath. “Do it, Eliot,” she said quickly. “Come in my mouth.”



A second later she took me deep into her mouth and I almost screamed with pleasure as her tongue wriggled beneath my cock, the back of her throat offering a soft resistance. She bobbed back and forth, taking me deep each time, her hand applying the lightest pressure to my tight balls. Her eagerness was obvious and I had no doubt she meant what she’d said; she really wanted me to come in her mouth. I started to warn her, but she pulled back as I did, somehow aware of how close I was, and began pumping her hand up and down my shaft, her lips held tight just at the end of my cock. Ready, waiting, wanting my cum.



“Fuck, Stella,” I cried out. “I’m gonna come…” She answered with an excited noise and lifted her eyes to mine. Her lips slid a fraction of an inch lower and as the widest part of my cock head slid between them I felt the heat and pressure build in my balls, so intense I saw stars when I closed my eyes. A second later the pressure spiked and my cock jumped, pushing further into Stella’s mouth. I moaned and babbled, panting, as two thick streams of semen erupted from my cock, one right after the other.



Stella whimpered with delight and I saw her swallow.



“Jesus fucking…” I swore before I shot another stream of cum into her closed mouth. She swallowed again and then opened her mouth, holding my cock against her extended tongue and I stared in blissful disbelief as my cock emptied again, flooding her tongue with a thick white fluid. It was lewd and it thrilled me. I swore again and she held still, waiting as the last spurts of cum dribbled onto her tongue, then she closed her mouth and swallowed a third time. She took my cock back into her mouth and pulled me all the way toward her until the tip touched the back of her soft throat where my cock pulsed weakly a few more times.



My cock left her mouth with a wet sound and she stood immediately and pushed me down onto the bed, climbing on top of me and kissing me hard.



“Oh my God, that was so hot,” she panted. She kissed me again, her mouth wet and tasting like my own semen. “You turn me on so fucking much.”



I lay breathing fast for a few seconds and she squirmed above me, kissing my face and throat, a warm, sleepy contentment spreading through me. She sat up, looked down at me, smiling with obvious arousal. If I had an imagination I might have thought I was dreaming the whole thing up, but I wasn’t creative enough to come up with this, not with the scenario, not with the intensity and certainly never could I have invented Stella.



“I’m sorry,” I panted. “I came so fast…”



She groaned and kissed me, her tongue snaking between my lips. “It was so fucking hot.”



“You really did enjoy that,” I said with wonder. She was beautiful with her messy hair and flushed face.



“Are you kidding me? Fuck. It was hot as hell.” She wriggled around on top of me excitedly. “You make me so wet, Eliot.”



I couldn’t hide my surprise. I should have believed her by now, but this whole experience was too bizarre for me to wrap my brain around. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this woman—for her sexual appetite and enthusiasm. My orgasm had been like a supernova—a powerful blast of pleasure exploding inside me—and nothing had come even remotely close to that intensity my whole life.



“You think I’m lying?”



She dropped her head and kissed me one more time before pushing herself up to a sitting position. She stripped off her top and I feasted my eyes on the cream colored satin bra that held her full breasts high and tight against her body. She reached behind her and undid the fastener and the next second I heard myself groan with pleasure as her breasts fell softly from the fabric, round and full and tipped with large nipples a slightly darker shade of brown than her skin.



“God, you’re beautiful,” I said in awe. Even her tattoos, which I’d never found attractive on a woman, added to, or were a part of her beauty. They dotted her skin like freckles, swirling up her arm and across her shoulders in a loose formation. I wondered if they reflected any real constellations, or if the stars themselves had meaning beyond the obvious—an echo of her name.



She smiled, tossed the bra behind her with a flourish, and shifted her weight, pushing herself up to stand above me. From my perspective, her body elongated, her legs stretching up, her breasts far away and as beautiful viewed from below as when she was right in front of me. She reached for the zipper at the back of her skirt and smiled down at me. The zipper stuck for a moment, and while she struggled with it she arched her back and I stared, enjoying the view.



Her hips tilted forward slightly, giving me more of a peek up her skirt. She wore a pair of cream colored panties beneath it that matched her discarded bra, and in the darkness against her brown skin, it clearly defined the curve of her pubis and the cleft that ran through the center, deepening as it met her full ass cheeks.



She fussed for a half a minute until the zipper came unstuck and the silky fabric went slack. She let it fall and balanced herself on one foot and then the other, giving me a lovely show, her thigh muscles flexing as she balanced, the fabric of her panties shifting as they stretched over her labia.



I looked up at her. I’d never seen a more beautiful sight. She had a little belly, just the slightest curve below her waist, and I watched as she ran her hands over it, looking down at me. She wasn’t fat, not by any means, but I knew that little swell of flesh on many women would make them feel flawed. Stella obviously didn’t share that opinion. She ran her hands up and over her breasts then down again, enjoying her own curves, clearly accepting and loving the way she was shaped. I lay watching, sharing her appreciation from below.



But it wasn’t just her body, which to my eyes was flawless, that made her sexy. It was her attitude, her confidence, and the irrepressible spirit that shone through every movement. This woman loved life, and she lived it fully every second of the day, seeking pleasure and sharing it. It was one of the things about her that made her so appealing, so real.



She slid her hand the front of her panties, her fingers curling around her sex, and dragged her middle finger up the center, pressing the fabric close so that it accentuated the indentation between her labia. She sighed and her knees bent slightly as she swayed with pleasure.



“Mmm,” she said, and for a moment she closed her eyes and I watched her finger stroke up and down, pressing against the fabric of her panties as she did. When she finally moved her hand away it was to slip it under the waistband and I watched with interest as the fabric stretched over her fingers. She sighed again, her head rolling slightly on her neck and I watched her fingers move in slow, undulating motions.



“Oh my God, I’m so turned on.” Her voice was soft, as if she was enjoying a private moment, not masturbating in front of me, and her brow creased, giving her face a slightly tortured expression.



I wasn’t sure I’d manage another erection—it had been too long since I’d had the opportunity to try a second time—but my body reacted to the scene before me, my blood pumping fast, rushing through me. I lay passive, just watching as she pleasured herself.



I watched her hand moving under the damp fabric of her panties and could smell her wetness, a little flowery, a little earthy. She lifted her other hand to her breast and rolled her hard nipple under her palm. “Mmm…Eliot,” she moaned. I watched, waiting, not sure if she wanted me to do something, until she finally opened her eyes and looked down at me.



“My pussy’s so wet,” she said, her voice breathy and excited.



She lifted her hand from her panties and brought it to her mouth. I could see the wetness on her fingers. She put the finger to her mouth and sucked it between her lips, tasting her own arousal. My mouth watered and I realized I wanted to taste her too. I had little experience in this area, though not for lack of interest; my wife had found oral sex too dirty, and along with blow jobs, that little pleasure had become a taboo.



“Do you want to see how turned on you’ve gotten me, Eliot?”



Her hands moved down to the elastic strip at her hips. She hooked her thumbs underneath and began to lower her panties. My eyes were glued on the slow progress of the lowering fabric.



“Do you want to see how wet my pussy is?”



“Oh God,” I said, thrilled by the her use of the word pussy, one I’d long since let slip from my vocabulary.



I looked up at her, only reluctantly dragging my eyes from the the slow progress of her lowering panties.



“Show me,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like my own. “Show me your pussy.”



Now it was her turn to be shocked, but the expression of surprise only lasted a second before it was replaced by that hungry look she’d had since she’d brought me into the room.



“Mmmm,” she purred, clearly pleased.



She wriggled her hips in delight and continued pulling the flimsy garment down her hips. I watched as her pubis was revealed and inhaled sharply as the slit of her labia came into view. She was shaved—completely bare, and glistening with her sexual juices.



“Stella,” I breathed, in awe.



She continued dragging her panties lower and I watched with mounting anticipation as the curves of her sex came into view—the valley of her pussy just visible between her swollen labia. She shifted her weight and balanced, like before, on one foot then the other, tugging the thin garment from her ankle, and for a moment, as one leg lifted, her labia parted slightly, giving me a glimpse of the flesh within—pink and wet and glistening like a treasure waiting to be discovered.



Her panties were tossed, landing on the floor with her bra, and for just a second her sexy expression turned girlish and giddy, as if she was about to burst into excited laughter, and I was reminded of how young she was. Then she narrowed her eyes and her smile turned seductive again.



“I can’t tell you how many times I had to spend an entire shift with wet panties,” she said, grinning. “Sometimes all you have to do is say hi to me and I get turned on.”



I knew how she felt.



She stepped toward me and I stared up her body, thrilled by the new angle she was giving me, enjoying her curves all over again from a new perspective. She stepped to either side of my head, straddling me, and I held my breath in anticipation as she began to lower herself, her knees bending and moving outward.



As she drew nearer her sex opened, the outer lips of her pussy parting, releasing a fragrant aroma I’d nearly forgotten—the scent of a woman’s sexual arousal. I watched, transfixed, as the smooth lips were pulled apart by her spreading legs and her whole glistening center came nearer.



She paused when her pussy was 6 inches from my face and balanced carefully, bringing her hand down between her legs. She covered her sex for a moment, pressing her palm against the wet flesh, and then drew the swollen lips apart, revealing the pink folds within. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was wet; she was practically dripping.

“Do you like to eat pussy?” she asked. Her voice was low again, layered with desire.



“Oh God, yes,” I groaned. The truth was I hadn’t for years, but when my wife had still enjoyed it, I had loved every second I spent between her legs. I had no idea if I’d been any good, or if I could live up to what Stella expected, but I was willing to try. More than willing; I was salivating in anticipation.



“I bet it’s been a while…”



She ran a slim finger through the folds of her pussy and let it slide inside her vagina. I watched it enter, sliding easily through her wetness, and swallowed hard. She withdrew it and repeated the motion a few times, each time making more fluid ooze from her hole as she pressed her finger deep inside. When she withdrew it she dragged it slowly upward, landing on the blunt button of her clit, which she circled a few times before pulling her hand away entirely with a sigh.



“I love to have my pussy licked,” she said breathlessly. “God, it makes me come so hard…a hot tongue sliding up inside me. Mmmmm.”



A moment later she lowered herself again and I felt the heat from her pussy before it touched my waiting mouth. God, what a taste—what a sensation! She moaned as soon as my tongue made contact, and, encouraged, I began to carefully seek out the zones that excited her most, listening to the sounds she made as I explored. Her skin was soft against my tongue with a sweet, fresh flavor. I licked her swollen labia, turning my head back and forth to reach as much as I could, then turned my attention inward, exploring her scented folds with my tongue.



“Oooh that’s nice,” she crooned. I could feel her watching me closely, her body held tensely as she hovered over my eager mouth. “Don’t stop…”



One thing I knew about Stella, long before this evening started, was that she didn’t hold her opinions back—everything she felt was out in the open, for better or for worse. In this case, it was all for the better as she directed me in desperate gasps and sharp directives. She wasn’t shy about letting me know what she wanted, and what she needed.



“Right there…” She bobbed gently when I reached a sensitive spot, and we both held still as I focused my tongue, rubbing and flicking, following her commands and requests. “Harder, Eliot. Suck me.”



Her hips moved almost imperceptibly, swirling and rocking as I licked and sucked, complying with her instructions as best I could. My mouth filled with her juices. I could feel them coating my chin and for just a second I had a vision of what was happening—me prone on a young woman’s bed with her pussy smashed against my face—and a surge of excitement made me groan. The whole thing was unbelievable and it rocked me to my core.



“Do you like how I taste?” she whispered hoarsely. “Does my cunt taste good?”



I groaned an affirmative, thrilled again by her language, not pulling my face away as she delivered her clit to my mouth again.



“Use your teeth,” she groaned. “Bite my clit.”



Her voice was strained and fierce, and from the amount of fluid her body was producing I thought she must be close to an orgasm. I tentatively closed my teeth around the flesh of her swollen clit and she bucked, pushing herself down against me, yelping with excitement.



“Fuck yes,” she said, her hips swinging more animatedly before she directed her clit to my mouth again and I took the ripe bud between my teeth once more, applying light pressure.



“Ohhh fuck, Eliot.”



I wanted to make her come. I wanted to slip my tongue inside her and hear her squeal with delight, but her rocking hips kept the entrance to her vagina away from my mouth. I guessed it was intentional, that she didn’t want to come right away, but I had no doubt she was loving the attention I was giving her.



All at once she pulled away, her hips rising into the air.



“Oh my God, Eliot. You almost made me come,” she breathed, still bent at the waist, her hair hanging down, her face flushed with arousal. “But I want your cock inside me when I do.”



She took a few steps backward and lowered her hips again, pausing just above my limp cock.



“Ohh,” she said in a disappointed tone. “I wore him out.” She let her hips drop and when her body touched mine, my cock was nestled in the warm folds of her wet pussy—too soft to penetrate her, but snuggled nicely in the heat of her sex. “Will he recover?”



“I don’t know if he will,” I laughed, half out of embarrassment, half out of the absurdity of referring to my penis in the third person. “I’ve never had the opportunity to find out.”



“Mmm,” she said, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. “Well, that’s my kind of challenge.”



She leaned forward and kissed me softly on the mouth, her hands reaching for mine. She pulled them up and placed them on her breasts and I couldn’t help but gasp at the sensation as her hard nipples touched my palms while the soft flesh molded itself to my hands.



Her hips began to move slightly, rocking forward and back, her considerable wetness lubricating her movements as her sex slid over mine, massaging my soft penis. For a few long seconds we kissed, her tongue actively seeking mine, her lips closing around it briefly and sucking, sending a wave of arousal through me as an image of my cock sliding between her closed lips flashed in my mind.



“Know something I find absolutely irresistible about you?” she asked, moving her mouth from mine. “You don’t expect anything I do, and you don’t expect me to do anything.



“I can’t tell you how many men come to bed with an agenda.” I tried not to think of just how many men she was talking about. “They’ve got it all worked out, what I’m going to do for them. Usually it’s stuff they’ve seen on online porn and they want it just how they saw it. They just want me to be their slut.”



She sat up and her hands uncovered mine, leaving me to knead and stroke her soft breasts while she rocked her hips in an easy motion.



“I don’t mind being a slut,” she said, grinning. “But I’d much rather a man found out how much I love sex, and love to please…” She kissed me again, her tongue slipping between my lips. “And how willing I am to do just about anything…” Another kiss, this time she sucked my lower lip between hers for a second. “I’d rather he found out how much I like that, than just assumed I exist just to thrill him.



“You don’t assume anything, and it’s a total turn on. And…” She smiled down at me, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Maybe this is weird, but I find that look of shock you’ve had on your face all evening sexy as hell. You look like a scared rabbit, or like you can’t even believe I’m real.”



“I—I do find it hard to believe,” I said. “This whole thing is pretty unbelievable, Stella.”



“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she said. She leaned forward, moving my hands from her breasts, and kissed me softly again. “But the fact that you haven’t really experienced much sexually makes me want you even more. I know you’re not naïve or anything, but you’re kind of innocent in a way, and I’m finding that totally sexy. And then the way you react—it’s like you’re…”



“In awe?” I offered, feeling it. “Stella, you don’t understand—this is all new to me. Not just the sex, which is—is well, it’s blowing my mind. It’s everything—your enthusiasm, your attitude…it’s…Jesus, you’re so beautiful, do you know that?”



She laughed and looked away for a second. I wasn’t sure, but I thought she was embarrassed.



“No, really. You’re gorgeous. I’m beginning to think I’ve been dead for the last forty-seven years.”



“Well, looks like you’re coming back to life,” she said. She lifted her hips and we both looked to see my cock had hardened, not completely, but I could feel it throbbing, longing for her touch again. She lowered her hips and wiggled them slightly, her breasts jiggling against her body.



“You nearly made me come a little while ago,” she said. “I wanted to, I really did, but I want your cock inside me when I do.”



She leaned close, kissing me once before she drew back and looked at me with serious, demanding eyes. “I want you to fuck me, Eliot. Really fuck me, like you could never fuck your wife.”



“Oh my God,” I said automatically. Her hips flexed a little more rapidly and I saw her swallow, clearly aroused.



She rolled off of me and onto her back, pulling at my arm. “Come and fuck me,” she hissed.



I moved between her legs, my heart jumping, my cock bobbing, not completely erect, but rapidly thickening.



“Fuck me deep and hard, Eliot.” She reached up and ran her hands through my hair. “And make me come.”



I looked down at her pussy, wet and pink and open, and felt my cock throb. I moved forward and took it in my hand, stroking it a few times, leading the thick head toward her center, her inner labia parted just enough I could see the winking target of her vagina, promising bliss. Her hips moved slightly, rocking, wanting my touch, wanting me inside her, and as I pressed the blunt head of my cock against her flesh, her eyes closed and her back arched in anticipation, her breasts rising on her chest.



“Yesss,” she sighed as I slid myself into her soft, heated folds. She moaned my name, and it sent a chill down my spine to hear her so openly express her pleasure, to know I was part of that.



Her body yielded easily, enveloping my cock in an impossible heat. I groaned, staring in awe at the sight of our bodies as she let me inside her.



“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Fill me up, Eliot, Fill my cunt.”



I swore in surprise and pleasure and an involuntary flex of my hips pushed me deeper inside her. I drew back and filled her again slowly, repeating the motion a few, slow times, unable to tear my eyes from the sight of her body opening for me.



“Don’t be a gentleman, Eliot,” she groaned. “I want you to fuck me hard.”



I shifted my weight on my arms, surprised by how much I wanted to do just that.



“Fill me,” she said, her voice thick with desire. “Fuck me deep and fill me up.”



I heard myself swear again and felt all my muscles tense as I drew back. I was afraid I would hurt her, but as I watched my cock emerge, slick with her wetness, I let my hips fall without restraint, crushing my body against hers. She jumped, moaned, and urged me on.



“That’s it,” she sighed. “That’s what I want.”



I drew back again, thrust home, watched her body bounce beneath mine, and a kind of red haze filled my vision. My cock ached like before, when it had outgrown the space in my trousers, but the lust that was rising in me was something I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced before.



“Fuck me,” she moaned. And I knew that was all I wanted at that moment.



I shifted my knees and arms, adjusting my position, and began to thrust in a steady rhythm, filling her again and again, making her grunt and groan and gasp. Her pussy was soaking, even wetter than it had been before when she’d lowered it to my waiting mouth, and the sound was incredible—a rhythm of obscene, forceful squelches. It was the same position my wife and I had always used—straight-forward missionary—the most unimaginative position, but the way she moved beneath me, her growls and squeaks of pleasure, her writhing hips and the way her legs wrapped around my thighs, holding me deep, made it completely different.



She was unbelievably vocal, urging me on with desperate cries. “Harder, Eliot,” she moaned. “Really fuck me, baby.” Her brow was twisted and her eyes pleaded with me. My head swam with excitement.



She lifted her legs from around my waist and spread her thighs, reaching down between her us to stroke her clit. “I’m going to come, Eliot,” she panted. “Keep fucking me, just like that, just like that!”



Her face was red and I guessed mine was too; I could feel the heat under my skin and the sweat on my scalp. Her breath was fast and caught tight in her chest, labored and strained as she grew closer and closer to coming.



“Eliot,” she whined. “You’re gonna make me come…don’t stop!”



I wasn’t sure I could stop. My arms ached, but the sensation of filling her again and again, of the smooth, wet resistance of her flesh, the slickness of her cunt as it enveloped my cock, was unreal. I never wanted the pleasure to end. But I could feel it building too—a subtle rising inside me, less dramatic than earlier, but full of potential. Maybe I would come again, probably not with her, but possibly after. The idea thrilled me, and I put a little extra muscle into my thrusts.



Stella reacted immediately, her head thrashing against the bed’s surface, her fingers crushing her clit. “Fuuuck, yesss!” she gasped. Her back arched and her legs stiffened for a second and I let my hips fall one more time, filling her completely. She whimpered, her face twisting to the point I thought she would cry, and then she shook, gasping, and I felt her body clutch from within, her strong vaginal contractions grasping my cock again and again in a frantic rhythm.



“Don’t…stop,” she gasped. “Don’t stop fucking me.” I drew my hips back, nearly leaving her body, and buried myself deep, surprised by the keening sound that came from her throat, and the still rapid pulse of her orgasm. Two, three times I withdrew and thrust, her cunt milking my cock, her breath finally flowing in a ragged way.



Her orgasm seemed to last forever. She slid her legs back to my hips and held me against her, keeping me still, and for a long time I felt the weak pulses inside her, gently gripping my thick cock. She was dazed, her face flushed and shining, her smile a drunken smile of bliss.



“Mmm Eliot,” she crooned after a few seconds and panting. “God…you’re fucking amazing.”



I knew I wasn’t the reason she came so hard—not the only reason, anyway—I knew it was more due to her own love of sex and the fact that she knew how best to turn herself on, and wasn’t afraid to seek out pleasure, but I couldn’t help let her words go to my head.



Never before had I felt a woman react that way to anything I’d done, or seen a woman look at me with so much desperate lust. It was an unbelievable turn-on and I could feel my arousal pulsing hotly inside me. I drew back, leaving her body, and obeying some impulse I didn’t know I had, I closed her legs and rolled her onto her stomach.



She complied without hesitation, looking at me over her shoulder with a surprised smile as I parted her legs to move between them.



“From behind?” Her still breathless voice was teasing and full of approval. “Oh Eliot…that’s so sexy…”



We both moved at the same time, positioning ourselves. She moved up on her knees slightly, pushing her round backside toward me like an offering. I steadied myself with one hand on her hip and used my other hand to slide my cock up and down the length of her wet slit.



Her body’s fragrance was aromatic and intoxicating, as was the sight of it bent over in front of me—the perfect symmetry of her round ass, the curve of her hips and the narrowing of her waist, her back dotted with tiny tattooed stars. Her face was turned to the side, pressed against the bed’s surface, but looking back at me, expectantly.



I brought myself to her vaginal entrance and my cock slipped inside her immediately, making both of us moan. I eased my hips forward and back for a few seconds, wanting to go fast and hard again, but mesmerized by the way her inner labia sucked at my cock when I withdrew, like a warm, wet mouth. I glanced up at her face and shivered—her expression, the permission she was giving me, the way she so clearly expressed how much she wanted to be fucked hit me like a physical blow.



I began to move more quickly, gradually picking up pace as I did. The bed squeaked beneath us and the flesh of her backside jumped with each forward thrust of my hips. She was braced against the bed, giving me a firm target for my lust, watching me from over her shoulder. I grasped her hips, steadying myself, and saw her fingers curl against the bed’s surface.



“You’re so fucking sexy right now,” she purred, grinning at me. It seemed a ridiculous thing to say, given the view I had. “Watching your cock like that, burying it…fucking my cunt…”



“God, Stella,” I said excitedly, my breathing growing faster. “You’re unbelievable.”



“Are you going to come inside me?” The hope in her voice was so sexy.



“Is it OK?” I gasped, still sawing forward and back, lost in the motion and sensation. “Should I stop?”



“Don’t you dare,” she moaned. “Don’t stop. I want it—I want you to come again.”



Her words drew an animal groan from my throat, lust swelling inside me. I picked up the pace, edging my knees apart slightly to steady my balance, and though I could feel my orgasm wasn’t going to be nearly as powerful as the first one I’d had, the realization that I was coming for a second time was enough to push me to my peak. I thrust harder, our bodies making a loud slap when they met, and dug my fingers into her fleshy hips.



“Oh God,” I groaned. “Your pussy is—I’m coming…”



“Come,” she hissed. “Come in my pussy, Eliot.”



I bucked and felt the squeeze inside me, an edge of pain that blossomed into pleasure. I swore, my voice louder than it had been all night, and thrust hard, pushing Stella forward and losing my balance in the process. I landed on top of her, my cock sliding straight up inside her again, and I buried my face in her hair as I fucked her against the surface of the bed.



I felt lust like I’d never felt before—primal and intense. She groaned beneath me, and I adjusted my posture slightly to take my weight from her body, continuing to thrust against her ass. In this position, my cock was shallow inside her, but squeezed tight by her narrowed pussy, and I could feel my orgasm reaching a sharp peak.



“Oh Stella,” I groaned into her hair, breathing in the scent of her body, and savoring the noises she made beneath me, urging me to come inside her, gasping out her need as I thrust, her voice caught somewhere between pleasure and discomfort, but with a willingness—God, she was so willing. I arched my back, all my muscles aching as I felt my cock empty for a second time, jumping and pulsing, and moaned loudly, bliss spreading through my body in warm waves.



I lay against her until my pulsing cock relaxed, and used what felt like the last of my strength to shift my weight from her body. I pushed the hair away from her face and kissed her flushed cheek. She rolled to face me, and we kissed with passion for a full minute, pausing frequently to catch our breath.



“Oh Stella,” I sighed as I lay back on the bed’s surface. “Holy shit. You’re an amazing woman. Thank you.”



She giggled, paused for a second, and then laughed.



“What? What’d I say?”



“I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before,” she said, still laughing. “Thanked me for sex.” She wrapped her arms around my sweaty neck and smiled. Her face glowed, making her even more beautiful.



“Well, maybe no one was ever as grateful as I am. You have no idea how incredible this whole evening was for me. It was…unbelievable, really.” I felt affection for her rush through me. “Ira is a lucky man. I hope he appreciates how amazing you are.”



She shifted to prop herself on an elbow and looked down into my face.



“You really mean that, don’t you?”



“Mean what?”



“That you hope Ira appreciates me.” She cocked her head, looking at me with curiosity.



“Well, yes. I do hope that—why wouldn’t I?”



She shrugged and slid her hand over my chest, running her fingers through my chest hair. “I just think most guys wouldn’t even want to think about the other guy, but you’re…you’re actually happy for him, aren’t you? I mean, it doesn’t bother you?”



“Well,” Her expression was just a little worried, so I chose my words carefully. “It did, at first. I haven’t had any other experience but long-term monogamy, so the idea of multiple, casual lovers was a bit of a shock for me. But then, most everything was a bit of a shock to me tonight.” The little frown of worry in her forehead hadn’t disappeared yet, so I added, “A fantastic shock, Stella—an absolutely fucking amazing shock.” She smiled and her expression eased. “Listen, I think you’re wonderful, and I just hope Ira does too. I hope he realizes what a treasure you are.”

Chapter 1



I was a freshman in college when this happened, living at home, we lived in a large eastern city. There was Mom and Dad and my sister, Eileen, who was out of college and teaching biology and forensic science at a local high school.



I’d been in college about six months, and maybe it was partly because I lived off-campus, at home, that I didn’t seem to get many dates.



At least dates with guys I wanted dates with. There were some jocks and super-nerds and some real jerks so hung up on themselves that they should really be dating a mirror if you know what I mean.



So, my sister said to me one afternoon, “Becky, there’s a senior that I taught last year that I could fix you up with, he’s drop-dead good-looking.”



“Come on, I’m in college now, and you want to fix me up with a high school guy?”



She got up and left the kitchen where we had been talking and came back with last year’s high school yearbook and flopped it open and pointed.



“Oh, wow, he is good-looking, that’s for sure. Does he have any brains?” I asked skeptically.



“He’s a b-student mostly so, yeah, he can hold a conversation and, well, he’s got quite a reputation as a lady’s-man.”



“A lady’s-man, god, you talk like Mom.”



“Well, how about ‘cocksman,’ that better?”



“Really, mmm, he is hot-looking. But, a blind date? Oh, that’s so ‘high-school,’ Sis.”



“Take another look at his picture. Oh, there’s another one of him, um, uh, here, on the swim team. The one with the bulge, see?”



Oh, I could see all right. Wow, he was muscly and taut with a sizable package in his Speedo.



“I see, yes, I see. Hmm, you say you could fix me up with…Kirk, Kirk Halstead? I can’t believe I’m asking you to do this. Maybe I’m just that horny,” and we both laughed.



“Believe me, girl, I’d fuck him myself but that would be the end of my career. But for you? Well, he’s hot, you can see that.”



So, Eileen took him a picture of me and he agreed to her idea so she set up a blind date for me with this hot-looking high school senior with the reputation and the big bulge in his Speedo.



“Friday, at seven, he’ll come by and pick you up, Becky, now I’m not expecting you two to suddenly announce your engagement but maybe he”ll give you a nice roll in bed. I’ve heard so much. Good luck.”



So, the date rolled around and, well, he was very good-looking, not too big an ass and had me out of my top and bra before the night was over, not that I resisted too much. I was horny, you know.



There’s one word which sums up how Kirk looked: beautiful. I mean he could model in Ralph Lauren ads, that handsome. And naked…oh, he was so beautiful and was just hard all the time.



That makes it sound like we were soon fucking. True, were did that on our second date. And our third, fourth, fifth, well, you get the picture. I soon saw why Eileen was so turned-on by him, he was gorgeous and exuded sex.



Was he that good in bed? Well, remember that I didn’t have a whole lot to judge by. Like every guy, he got off every time we had sex. I did about a third of the time. That seemed okay until I told Eileen who wanted a full description of one of our sessions and I began to see that Kirk was mostly involved in his own orgasm and didn’t spend any really good time getting me hot and ready.



He was also kind of shallow and selfish. His sex tended to be routine and mechanical, again, focused on his orgasm, not mine. If he did give me oral before we had intercourse, it was usually brief and distracted, like he was just doing it because he was supposed to, and then, onto fucking until he shot his cum.



Well, he was beautiful, the sex, only okay.



He mostly used my vagina as something mostly to cum into, after all he didn’t seem especially happy with sex. Mostly compelled to have it.



While the sex was okay, I knew that he would never be anything more to me than someone to rid my horniness temporarily.



It became summer, I would be in my sophomore year in college and Kirk would be going to a two-year school, he really didn’t have much ambition, and that was really best for him.



I was often sleeping over at his house, dozing off in his gorgeous arms after some average sex. His bedroom was the whole finished basement which had a small den and television where we often watched porn if it wasn’t on his computer, a bedroom with a nice, queen-sized bed that had entertained quite a few girls and women in the past, up to twenty, as he recalled. It also had it’s own bathroom with a nice, big shower where he seemed to be the most sexually-imaginative, for some reason.



His parents were a bit different. His mother was quite aloof, it almost seemed that she was jealous of any girl or woman he took any interest in. She was quite cool to me.



His father, Hank, was a businessman who owned two car dealerships and while car dealers are not usually thought of as nice, sweet men, his father was just that. I could see that Kirk got some of his looks from his father who, after all, was not an old man, he was thirty-nine. The car dealerships were founded by Kirk’s grandfather, Hank’s father, who died when Hank was just twenty. He took them over and continued to grow the business which were quite successful.



Hank and his mother also worked at the dealership, he helped out in the service area doing odd jobs while his mother was financing manager at one of the leaderships, the larger of the two.



I wasn’t working during the summer, so I often slept in. His father would sometimes bring down a cup of coffee for me to wake up to and we often talked about this or that as I sipped it.



What his father may not have realized was that before Kirk left in the morning he would play around with me getting me all worked up and hot so I was rubbing myself off when his father came down, often still in his pajamas.



I would usually sleep in the nude but, when Kirk got up each morning, I’d slip on the undershirt he’d been wearing in bed that night. So, I was often covered by his teeshirt but bare from there on down.



On these mornings when he’d bring me my coffee, being naked from the waist down under the covers had me turned-on so much, especially after Kirk kissing me goodbye each time as he did, on my pussy, tonguing me until he had me squirming, then a quick kiss on the mouth and he was off to work leaving my pussy dripping and super-horny.



That was how his father found me each morning as he sat on the edge of the bed while we chatted about this and that.



Chapter 2



Was I looking at him in a sexual way? How could I not? He was a handsome man, yes, near forty but these days, that’s hardly old. I only kept the sheet over my lower half, I know he was looking at my boobs each morning in the tight tee shirt which showed the imprint of my excited nipples. I rather enjoyed the attention I knew I was causing.



As I sipped my coffee, I often played a game with him, without his knowing of course, of rubbing myself to orgasm with one hand under the covers and a knee raised to disguise my self-pleasuring. Did he know? I really didn’t try to keep it completely from his knowledge, I really did tease a bit by just making it obvious enough that I was either slowly rubbing myself or fingering my pussy.



My orgasms were quiet ones, usually with a deep intake of breath, sometimes a small shudder and an ‘mmm’ once in a while. I didn’t try to keep it totally from him. Yes, I was a tease.



I could tell that my teasing was working, too. It seemed that Hank didn’t wear anything under his pajamas and I could see the ridge develop and lengthen as I would take things a bit further each time.



He knew, of course, this was a little game between us, an unspoken one, of course. I knew that the first time he took our coffee cups back upstairs, standing up with his pajamas tented straight out, making no attempt to hide it. Standing there for a minute, all poked-out, then turning and going upstairs. We both, it seemed, were just teasing each other.



I had seen Kirk’s father’s cock sticking straight out, pushing his pajamas out, a number of times and I really thought that he was better hung than his son with the hot reputation.



Then, one morning, I wanted to raise the ante a bit and got up from bed and went in the bathroom to wait until I heard him come down the stairs. I waited a few more seconds, then went out and came back to sit on the bed, ‘lndian-style,’ as I wished him a ‘good morning.’



I knew he was getting a good look, I had chosen what I’d worn very carefully, a cutoff tee that just barely covered my nipples but let the bottom curvy-half of my breasts show from under and, below that, my tiniest thong, the one that didn’t hide my slit but simply rode tucked-in between my labia. And he got a very good look, his eyes were mostly looking down.



But then, he excused himself and went off to shower and get ready to go to his office at the car dealership.



The next morning, Kirk was playing around with me when his mother called down that she was ready to leave, they usually went to work together, and I just curled up as he left and fell back to sleep.



A bit later, Hank called down to see if I wanted my coffee and brought it down along with his as was usual. I was naked under the sheet and had it pulled up to my shoulders as I sipped my coffee and we chatted about this and that.



I moved to sit up and lean back on the headboard as the sheet fell to my lap.



“Oops,” I said as his eyes took in my naked breasts and he replied, “Oh, Becky, that’s quite all right, it’ll make this old guy’s day, you’re a very pretty girl.”



I had pulled the sheet back up but then I looked at him and said, “Well, you deserve to have a nice day so if I can help make it that, here,” and I dropped the sheet back down and took another sip. I just decided to go ahead and let him see me like this and I could immediately see the effect on his pajama pants.



“So, how are you and Kirk getting along?” he asked.



I decided to tell him the truth.



“Oh, well, I guess I can tell you the truth, I’m just about to break it off with him.”



“Perhaps I shouldn’t ask why, huh?”



“I really don’t mind telling you, I guess. He’s…well, he’s just not a mature lover. He’s in it mostly for himself, for his own pleasure and, quite frankly, there are lots of times that he leaves me unsatisfied. Like this morning, it’s a good example. I’m just tired of it and want someone who will take the time and be interested in my pleasure as well as his own.”



“Yes, well, you’re not the first one I’ve heard that from. I think it takes some years for some guys to understand that sex is for two.”



“Exactly. When he does get me excited, then, like this morning, he just leaves me all turned-on and horny.”



“Well, I must admit that seeing you like this has got his father all turned-on and horny,” he said with a smile.



“I can see that for myself,” I told him, nodding to his lap.



“Oh, well, the usual male reaction to a beautiful naked woman, I’m afraid.”



“Why be afraid, I think it’s rather nice. I’ve been wondering what was making that big bulge in your pajamas. Can I see it?”



There, I asked and I did it in my sweetest voice.



He reached down, put his fingers inside and pulled out a cock that was the largest i’d ever seen.



“Um, how big is that, Hank?”



“Well, no one’s measured it in a long time but the last measurement was eight and three-quarters.”



“I’d love to hold it,” I said and he stepped over to the bed as I reached up and put my fingers around it. It was large and hard, a darker shade of brown than his son’s whose was more pinkish. But I could feel his heart throbbing sending blood to stiffen it.



“You’re really hard, Hank, I love the feel of your cock.”



“I love the feel of your hand on my cock, Becky. You’re making an old guy feel pretty damned good.”



“You’re not old, you’re not even forty, are you?” I asked as I slowly stroked it.



“Thirty-nine but you’re making me feel eighteen again, Becky, you are such a beautiful young woman. I’m sorry my son hasn’t earned you, I would do things differently myself.”



With my other hand I pulled his hand to my breast as he began kneading it while I slowly masturbated him.



“What would you do differently, Hank, if you had the chance?”



“Oral sex for one, it’s something I love doing and, well, I’ve been told that I do it quite well. I would make sure you’ve had the best orgasm I could give you before I ever put this inside you,” he said nodding to his cock.



“What if I let you do it?”



“Becky, I’d be the happiest man alive.”



“Then, why don’t you take those pajamas off and do it. My pussy’s all yours,” I said as I pulled the sheet off me and spread open.



“Well, normally I wouldn’t do anything but since you’ve told me that you are leaving my son, it’s really tempting, you are a very sexy, hot woman.”



I slid a finger in and began running it in and out. “This could be your tongue, Hank,” I said saucily. Then, he began unbuttoning his pajamas. He got the top off and he was well-toned, perhaps not quite like his son but when he lowered his bottoms, well, I saw fully that he easily outdid his son in length and girth.



“You’re a handsome, sexy man, Hank. I think maybe you underestimate your appeal. You’re sure making me wet.”



He knelt down as I spread open for him and took his fingers to ease me open so he could put the tip of his tongue inside me and wiggle and thrash it around. Then his lips spread over me as he began sucking my pussy while his tongue darted between my labia. His thumb was circling my clit as he did this and I was instantly taken up to a state that usually took ten or twenty minutes for me to achieve, yes, he was that good.



“Oh, Hank, omigod, you are so good. Mmm, oh, don’t stop, oh, please, mmm, more.”



He kept at my pussy, he was so good, he knew every nerve ending a woman had, he was a master. I was pulling his hair as he ate me, I just was out of control with ecstasy, then I simply burst with a gigantic orgasm that shook me to my toes. It was the strongest, longest one of my life, simply stunning.



I don’t even know what all happened to me it was that strong and powerful. There were starbursts in my vision, music and rushing sounds like waves and tides, ripples and surges of the most serene, then erotic feelings, cycles of warmth spreading across my body, flowing outward from my pussy, as I felt lifted up to the clouds. Nothing had ever felt so wondrous.



“Oh, Hank, omigod, I’ve never had anything that good. You are the most incredible man. I still feel it, it’s still wonderful. Can you fuck me with that?” I asked pointing at his cock. “I have never wanted to be fucked so much in all my life,” I panted as he crawled up between my legs while I opened as wide as I could for his entry.



He pushed the head of his cock up to me and rubbed it up and down, spreading my juices onto him as he pressed forward. His cock tip spread my lips and entered me, followed by the rest of his cock pushing down into me as I raised my legs up to try to fully take him inside.



“Mmm, you’re big, oh, bigger than Kirk, mmm, oh, this is going to be good, very good,” I groaned as he began moving in and out sending waves of pleasure across me with each wondrous stroke.



“You are so tight and nice, Becky, this is making me a very happy man I hope you know.”



“Mmm, me too. You fill me up so good, my pussy is just one happy girl.”



He picked up my feet and lifted them up over his head, spreading me apart as he plunged his cock over and over down into me, he was so big, so thick, at first, it felt like I might split apart but soon it was feeling so erotic, so sexy, so hot.



“Mmm, I wish we’d started this months ago, Hank, god, your cock is wonderful and you really know how to please a woman. Whatever happens with Kirk and me, I hope we can see each other, this is so good,” I moaned as I moved my hips around while he fucked me in and out.



“Yes, yes, I would like that. I’ve got a schedule that is flexible enough that I’m sure we can work something out. This is so nice, I hope we continue it, you really are a beautiful, sexy woman.”



“Mmm, and you’re just the kind of lover I’ve been looking for, one that makes me feel so good.”



“It’s so easy to make you want to feel good, Becky, you’re so sexy and beautiful,” he said as his hands held mine down on the bed up over my head as he fucked his long, thick cock in and out between my raised legs so wonderfully.



“Mmm, oh, Hank, I’m so close, this is so good, go a little faster, mmm, oh, OH, OH, UUUH, UUUH, uh, mmm, mmm,” I cried out as I felt swept up in the most wonderful, erotic feelings.



Then, he shoved hard down into me, pushing me up to where my head was pressed up against the headboard and he cummed and cummed into my depths, holding himself inside as we both were swept away by our orgasms.



“Oh, Becky, that was so good, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now, you are just so gorgeous,” he said, still slowly moving in and out as some of his cum went dribbling down by butt crack onto the sheets. I would need to wash those sheets before Kirk got home.



I broke up with Kirk the next day, he didn’t seem to be very upset about it, I really think he’s rather emotionally-stunted even though he’s such a beautiful young man.



Now, if you’re wondering if I kept in touch with his father, well, I can tell you that his long, thick cock just deposited a hefty load of semen deep, deep inside me to keep me company until Thursday when he’ll replenish it all anew.



So, while my sister was trying to do me a great favor by setting me up with one of her hunkiest students, it was his dad that knew how to make a woman happy which he does so very well.



Mmm, I can still feel it.

Liam went home on Friday night feeling empty. He thought he had felt lonely before he had Rachel. He felt worse now.



He was more acutely aware of his dissatisfaction with his life than ever before. His marriage was over, though neither himself or his wife could admit it, he felt as though the mediocrity of it was killing him. Once his two sons had left home in the past year it had become even worse. He knew he wanted more, to feel alive again but didn’t know how. He had thought he had seen the answer in Rachel, but she seemed to complicate the question.



Rachel, with her innocent look, beauty and eagerness. Her stunning ability to make him want to simultaneously own her and be owned by her made him feel lost. He had had affairs before, but always before sex was paramount and true emotional connection had never been there. He felt that connection to Rachel. It wasn’t just her body he wanted have. He wanted her heart and soul. He wanted to know her in a way no man had ever known her before, have her give herself to him in a way she never had before.



When Liam arrived home he sat in his car outside. He didn’t want to go in. He felt like going inside would sever his memory of Rachel and her submission to him, her yearning to be taken, her need to please. He breathed in deeply through his nose. Although very faint, he could still smell her on his beard. He remembered the way she had writhed under his touch, the way her hips moved as he licked and pleasured her. The way she had abandoned her shyness after her orgasm and kissed him with joy and passion. Most of all he remembered her face, cheeks flushed and stained with mascara and tears, her clear green eyes staring into him. In that moment he felt as if he had been seen for the first time.



Rachel made him feel vulnerable.



In her sweet submission to him and his will, he found she now had a power over him. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t wanted that. The situation was too complicated.



Liam knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. He got out of his car and went inside. Sally, his wife was in the kitchen. They said their hellos and sat down to eat the dinner she had prepared.



Sally was so different to Rachel. It wasn’t just their ages. Sally was a small woman, petite and blonde. She was attractive, some would say model like. But Liam found her to be cold. She had put their children first, which is necessary in a good mother, but she went beyond what was normal, pushing all of his desires away. He had thought that it might change now that the boys were gone but it didn’t.



Their sex life was dull, it was like she thought her looks would get her through, all she had to do was lay there and let him finish what he had to do. It was ok when he had been young and full of hormones, but it hadn’t been enough for the past twenty years. There was no participation from her at all. Whenever he broached the topic, she called him a deviant and it was left at that. With the lack of sex also came the lack of intimacy. There were no longer cuddles before bed, holding hands or kisses. Liam missed that connection. He found that with Rachel he could satisfy his need for intimacy and domination. She was a unique woman in his estimation.



After tea Liam and Sally went their separate ways. Sally went to the gym giving Liam time alone in the house. Liam went to his computer and started making arrangements for his next meeting with Rachel. He found and booked a motel room. Not too cheap and sleazy, he didn’t want that for Rachel, but not too expensive either. He chose a nice looking motor inn and booked in Wednesday night.



He sent Rachel a text message. “On Wednesday night be at this address. What you wear can be up to you, surprise me. What we do will be up to me, I’ll surprise you.” He added the address and pressed send.



Within five minutes his phone beeped, alerting him to a received message. “I’ll be there,” was all it said.



Liam shut down his computer, showered and went to bed. He didn’t hear Sally come home.



Rachel sat in her car outside room 108. She was parked next to Liam’s car so she knew he would be in there waiting for her but there was no indication that the room was occupied. The curtains were drawn tight and she couldn’t see any light coming from the room. She knew she had to go in, wanted to go in, but her fear held her. What would be waiting for her in that room? Would there be whips and chains? She shuddered at the thought, not sure if she shuddered from fear, repulsion or arousal.



She checked her face in the rear-view mirror. Her make-up was light, dusky pink and purple hues, which made her large green eyes stand out. Her hair was straightened again, recently styled in long layers that framed her round face giving the illusion of a slimmer face. It fell freely to the small of her back.



Thinking she couldn’t put it off any longer, she turned her car off and stepped out on beige fashionable heels. She straightedged her royal blue skirt which sat just above her knee. Her singlet top, blue and white horizontal strips, clung tightly her her braless chest. Without underwear, she was acutely aware of her nakedness under her clothes. She felt the cool night air on her bare arms and legs, felt the soft breeze tickle her under her skirt. Rachel knew she was aroused now, her nipples clearly stood out against the soft lycra and cotton singlet. She hoped Liam would like her outfit.



Rachel took a deep breath and knocked on the door.



“Come in.” Liam’s strong voice called from the room. Rachel opened the door.



The room was lit only by a lamp on one side of a queen sized bed. The room’s decor looked like it hadn’t been updated since the late 80s but it was clean and only had a slight musty smell. It was dark with deep rich tones, thick carpet on the floor, and a small ensuite at the back. On the luggage rack next to the built in robe were two large overnight bags, seemingly full. Liam sat on an armchair near the small kitchenette at the back near the bathroom.



“You have definitely surprised me,” Liam said. “I thought you would wear something extremely cheap and look like a street walker. Instead you have come here as if ready for a nice dinner.”



“Does it disappoint you?” Rachel asked.



Liam laughed, “Not at all you silly creature! I don’t want everyone to know what a slut you really are. I love that your true sexuality is secret. Something for me and me alone. You’re very pretty and I like you to look that way. It makes me want to defile you even more.”



Rachel flushed. The word defile made her shudder, this time she knew it was arousal. She wanted Liam to defile her, make her feel dirty. She wanted it and craved it.



“You’re not all innocence and sweetness though are you? I can see from here you’re braless.” Liam licked his lips, his hand slid over his pants adjusting his growing erection. His obvious display of lust seemed to make her nipples even harder. “Lift your skirt, let me see what you have chosen for under your skirt.”



Rachel could hardly look at Liam as she gathered her skirt up to her hips. Her nudity now made clear to Liam made her shy, unsure if she did the right thing. She dreaded his reaction, but longed for approval.



“You filthy dirty slut. You think you can come in her looking like a chaste woman and have me not discover how desperate you are to feel like your true self? I like your secret slutty nature I’m pleased you didn’t try to hide it from me completely. I am happy with your choice.” Liam crooked his finger and called to her, “Come stand by me my beautiful whore.”



Rachel wanted to run to him, but she held her pace steady and tried to be graceful in her approach.



She stood in front of Liam, so close the tip of her heels touched his shoes. Liam put his hand between her knees and started to raise his hand up her thigh, caressing her as he went. He was gentle, loving in his touch. Rachel could feel the moisture between her thighs as his hand rose higher and higher.



Liam’s eyes stared at her intently, watching her every movement. His eyes seemed to analyze every minute detail. Rachel felt uncomfortable under his gaze and looked away.



“Look at me,” Liam barked at her. “I want to see your eyes.”



Rachel moved her eyes back and held his gaze. He smirked at her and continued his slow, teasing ascent. His fingers brushed her big lips, she could feel how engorged they were, so sensitive that his touch made her shut her eyes.



“Open them bitch!” Rachel flew open her eyes. “I want to make you cum Rachel, I want you to cum from my touch.” Liam’s fingers danced along her lips now, Rachel struggled to keep her eyes on Liam. “I want to give you that pleasure because you please me. I can’t do that if you don’t obey me.” Liam pushed his fingers deeper, spreading her lips and teasing her hole. Rachel tried to keep staring, looking into Liam’s deep eyes, trying to stay focused and not throw her head back. “If you don’t obey me you will have to be punished. You don’t want that to be punished do you baby?” and inside his finger went, probing insider her. Rachel heard the squelch of her wetness as he moved in and out.



Rachel didn’t trust herself to speak. She just moved her head in agreement, keeping Liam’s gaze. She did want to cum, she wanted to show him she liked the way he touched her, wanted him press his will and desires onto her.



“Good girl,” Liam soothed. Using his finger inside her as if her entrance was a handle he pulled her closer. Rachel inched forward until she was straddling his legs. With his voiceless command, his rough use of her, Rachel felt he understood her. He knew how to treat her, how she needed to be treated, just like a plaything.



“Lift your skirt again.” Rachel did. Liam’s eyes shifted for a moment as he watched himself put another two fingers inside her, stretching her. Rachel’s started to rock her hips, she wanted him, wanted his fingers to fuck her.



“I wish you could see this my gorgeous slut, see how easily you take me and watch your greedy cunt pushing onto my fingers” Liam looked up again at her. Rachel knew she was flushed, her eyebrows furrowed and she was biting her bottom lip in concentration. She wanted to shut her eyes and throw her head back and cry out but she couldn’t. She knew it would all stop if she did. She didn’t want that. His touch was too good, too rough and she needed it.



Liam stood up, fingers still inside her and walked her back to the bed. He used his free hand to push Rachel onto the bed. She sat on the edge, her ass just barely on the bed. Without stopping his fingers wriggling inside her he leaned her back onto the bed and lifted each of her feet onto the bed. He crouched down between her legs.



Rachel laid on the bed as if waiting for a doctors exam, she reached behind her and grabbed a pillow and put it under her head so she could still see Liam’s eyes. She knew she was soaked, her pussy well lubricated but she still cried out in pain as Liam pushed his fourth finger into her. Rachel kept her eyes flung open, her hands still clutching her skirt made fists so hard she could feel her nails digging into her palms through the fabric.



Liams fingers continued to stretch her, pushing her muscles wider and wider. His palm now hitting hard against her clit, making her hips move quicker, the pain of his entry and the slap of his palm against her button made her start to sweat.



Liam looked away from her again and she felt his thumb start to enter her. Rachel’s legs instinctively tried to close and she felt herself trying to scramble up the bed, away from the intrusion. “Stay where you are bitch! You’re doing well, but I am going to fist your gorgeous wet cunt.”



His invasion continued. Rachel shouted with pain as more and of him went inside her. She felt his knuckles at the very edge of her opening, thinking there was no more room inside her. But she was wrong with one more push she felt herself being stretched until she felt a small release and his knuckles were inside.



“Rachel you’re such a fucking whore! You’ve got my hand inside you. Look, look at your fucking pussy!” Rachel leaned up on her elbows, the fullness of her pussy made her feel pregnant and sluggish but she was able to push herself up and see. The very edge of his hand was sticking out of her. She groaned as she watched him move in and out of her. Liam leaned up and kissed her lips. “You’re such a good girl. You can lay down now. I’m going to make you cum.”



With relief Rachel flopped back onto the bed. Liam’s mouth enclosed her clit, licking her in consistent little circles while he rotated his hand and fucked her full pussy.



Rachel felt her hips moving with him, her thighs trembling. She felt the wave of pleasure from her pussy move down to her toes and all over her body. She shook and screamed as her orgasm took her. She felt herself crying and laughing with pleasure as the waves slowly subsided and eventually stopped.



Liam slowly worked his cum soaked hand out of Rachel. He watched as her flushed, plump body heaved, getting her breath back. She was smiling, giggling almost.



“I can’t believe you did that to me!” Rachel’s naked display of joy made Liam’s already hard cock feel as if it would burst free of his jeans. She leaned over and pulled him on top of her. She covered his face in little kisses. The almost naive way she did this made Liam’s heart feel like it was on fire. Her joy and passion for him was a feeling he hadn’t known in years, perhaps ever. He held her tightly as she kissed him, enjoying her whispered thanks and the feel of her full body beneath him.



Liam started to kiss her back. He kissed her neck and ears nibbled them, his need for her was rising. He got harder and rougher with his kisses and gripped her tighter.



He sat up off Rachel and pushed her up to the middle of the bed. The blankets going with her. “Take your clothes off,” Liam growled.



Rachel got to her knees. She took her shoes off first, flicking them onto the floor. Her singlet came next, freeing her creamy white, round breasts. With difficulty Liam resisted the urge to reach out and pinch her pink nipples. Rachel lifted her skirt above her head. The skirt got caught on her breasts and as Liam watched her tug her dress and her tits bounce down he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.



Liam grabbed her hair, pulled her off the bed and onto the floor. He forced her to her knees, pulling her head back until he could see her beautiful big eyes again. Her eyes no longer shined with joy. There was fear now, but something else was there. Arousal perhaps?



Liam used his free hand to undo his fly and reached in and pulled out his cock. It was so hard and throbbing that getting it out was much more difficult than he anticipated.



He forced her mouth onto his cock. She didn’t stop him, opening her mouth to take him inside. He felt her tongue caress his cock, making him groan. He watched her head move on its own sucking him.



Liam started to feel angry. A fury grew within him. She was so good, so perfectly slutty, so beautiful. He needed her. He had to have her, to own her. Not just here in these moments, but always. In his bed, in his arms, in his life. But he couldn’t. She belonged to someone else.



Unable to contain his anger at her anymore he slapped her cheek. The sound of it lingered in the air. She stopped moving. He pulled her head back by her hair and looked at her again. Her look was so open, she didn’t ask why, she just looked her eyes seeming to beg for more.



Still gripping her hair he forced her back onto the bed. He grabbed her singlet from the floor and wrapped her hands up tight in front of her. His tying was haphazard, he was unsure if it would hold. But he didn’t care, desperate now to have her helpless and bound, to own her in this moment. He put her face down into the pillows, so he couldn’t see her. Still fully clothed he pulled her naked ass up into the air and forced his cock into her pussy. It slid in easily and he started fucking her. Hard and furiously he pounded into her. Rachel lifted her head to look back at him.



“Get the fuck down bitch!” Liam yelled at her. “You fucking whore, don’t you fucking know what you’re doing to me?”



“What are you talking about?” Rachel’s voice came muffled from the blankets. She tried lifting her head again.



“I said get your fucking head down. It’s my turn and I’ll have you however you want. This is how you want it isn’t it? Rough, dirty in a motel room, being fucked like a whore. Being used?”



Rachel gave no answer and Liam didn’t expect one. Liam kept fucking her, purely for his own release. He no longer cared if she enjoyed this, if she wanted this. He was going to get what he wanted from her, selfishly using her for his own pleasure. She didn’t move at first, but slowly he felt her push herself against his thrusts, trying to get more and more of him inside her. Liam just fucked and fucked until he felt his hot liquid explode into her pussy.



Liam fell down onto the bed beside Rachel. This time there were no kisses from her. No hugs. She laid where she was.



Liam felt his anger leave him. “Rachel baby, look at me.” He moved his hand to caress her spine, “Rachel, look at me.”



He pulled her body close to his. He kissed her cheeks, forehead and lips lightly. “What’s wrong?” He asked her.



Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I like this.”



Liam smiled at her, “You like this because you it’s part of you. You know what you want and being fucked by a man makes you feel like a woman. You want the lack of power, you want to know that you have someone who is strong, who will take care of you. Someone who will allow you to be yourself and explore your darkest needs and fantasies.”



Liam started to undress himself and continued to kiss her. He put his tongue in her mouth, finding hers. At first she was didn’t reciprocate, but after a moment she did. Her tied wrists went to his shirt and her fingers helped him undo his buttons.



When he was naked Liam moved up the bed and sat with his back against the pillows and headboard. Rachel seemed to know what he needed and he climbed onto his lap, her legs either side of his. She put her still bound arms around his neck. She pulled his head towards her and kissed his neck lightly, her teeth just scraping his skin. Liam held her close and rubbed his limp cock against her hot pussy, soaking with his and her juices.



Liam lifted Rachel’s chin up and kissed her lips again. He felt his erection grow again. Rachel moved her hips urging his hardness to grow. Liam reached down between their legs and lifted his mostly hard cock up and Rachel slide herself onto him. They moaned together. It felt different this time. It was slower, more erotic, more intimate. Liam knew she needed this, as he did, to feel closer to her. He wanted to show her that you can be owned and loved at the same time.



Liam put a hand on Rachel’s hip, keeping her pace slow and steady. He put the other on her throat and squeezed gently. Rachel’s head went back as her breath caught in her throat. Liam watched her body, so sexy and feminine as she rode his cock. He squeezed and released her throat in time with their movements. Rachel’s moans grew as he did. She brought her eyes back to Liam’s. Her eyes questioning, seemingly asking him if she was doing what he wanted, was she doing right.



Her desire to make him happy made his heart cry out again. This time he wasn’t angry this time he wanted to tell her.



Liam rolled her over, pushing Rachel onto her back. Liam kissed her eagerly, passionately biting her lips and sucking on her tongue. His teeth moved to her nipples, biting as they heaved with his thrusts. Liam lifted her bound arms over her head, allowing him to see her whole body beneath him.



Rachel started to moan in the way he had discovered meant she was going to come. Liam went harder, pinching at her hips and thighs as he lifted her legs, bending her knees so he could get in deeper.

The following morning, Lucy awoke in her father’s bed. She sat up, confused. She was naked and surrounded by books…. what had happened?



A single glance at the open publication beside her was enough to remind her.



Oh yes… Lucy blushed. That.



In the heat of the moment the night before, she’d considered doing those acts with Papa- Papa! How wrong! She felt shame well up inside of her. She truly was a wicked, wicked girl for having thoughts such as those, not to mention for what she did to her body.



You shouldn’t play with yourself that way Lucy, she thought. It’s so very sinful.



She resolved to go to confession as soon as she could get a chance. She’d ask Papa when he returned.



Wrapping herself in a blanket to guard against the chill, Lucy darted into her own bedroom and dressed for the day. She made her way downstairs, anxious to start breakfast, when she found that breakfast was already on the table.



“Papa! You’re home!” she said, astonished.



“I am, dear Lucy,” he said, opening his arms to her and drawing her in. Lucy jumped to him and greeted his embrace warmly- oh how she’d missed him! “How was your evening last night?”



Ha had a twinkle in his eye that made Lucy unnerved. He couldn’t possibly have seen, could he?



“I missed you, Papa. It’s so lonely here without you.”



“It seems so,” he said. Again, his eyes had a secret.



“What time did you get here?” she asked casually, helping herself to some breakfast.



“About midnight,” he said. Lucy froze. “I wanted to go straight to bed, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”



Lucy could not look at him. He’d seen everything! He must be furious! How many times had he told her those books were sinful, dirty?



Her father got up from his place at the table and stood very close behind her. “If I’d known how you missed me, I promise I’d never have gone away.”



“Papa-”



“Yes, my beautiful daughter,” he said, drawing her in to another embrace. “I am. Now, I have to do some yard work, and I shan’t have time to spend with you until dinner. Please, enjoy your day… but not too much.”



He winked at her, and Lucy wanted to die from embarrassment. With that, he left the house.



“Did you enjoy your dinner, father?” Lucy asked that evening as she tidied up.



“Delicious my dear, thank you.”



“Well,” Lucy said, not knowing what more to say. She was very tongue tied around her father that night… every time she thought of something to say, she suddenly remembered what he must have seen and she blushed with shame and found herself up able to speak. “I should go to bed.”



“That’s fine, Lucy,” her father said. “I’ll come say goodnight in a few minutes. I’ve already lit the fire in your room.”



“Thank you, father,” she said, kissing him on the cheek and taking her leave. She ascended the stairs in the darkening, tiny house, until she reached her room. She found her matchbook and lit a candle, and was about to undress when she stopped. The images from those books did not leave her head all day, but what had seemed so real last night was now puzzling. Could those sinful, dirty things truly be real? What had aroused her so the night before now made her curious. Had she really read what she thought she did?



Lucy did not even let herself second guess what she was about to do. Instead, she took her candle and darted out of her bedroom and down the hall to her father’s room. She stole inside and found the book that had captivated her the night before. She quickly nipped it off the shelf where she’d returned it that morning and ran back to her room.



She set it on her nightstand and undressed. Just as she was slipping her nightgown over her head, her father knocked on her door. He did not wait for her to answer, though- he came right inside.



Hastily pulling her nightgown down, Lucy stepped away from the door until the backs of her legs hit her bed. She sat down on it, nervous for some reason.



“Hello, father,” she said, swallowing hard. Her heart was thundering. She so wanted him to leave so she could open that book and explore it some more… besides, she did not want him to find it sitting on her bedside table.



“Lucy,” he said, nodding at her. He moved closer, sitting beside her on the bed. “Were you about to retire?”



“Yes,” she said, and to prove it she drew her legs up onto the bed and reclined against the pillows. Her heart continued to beat insistently, and she could not help but think about the carnal words from the book sitting only a few feet away. Lucy was so inexperienced that any kind of hint at anything erotic would have aroused her, and she was suddenly introduced to something far more than a hint. Her arousal was undeniable, and the tenacious burning between her thighs was growing more distracting by the second.



Jack watched as his daughter lay back on her bed, the white lace pillows framing her face and her honey blonde hair fanning out around her, the candlelight making her skin golden. She was so beautiful… after what he’d seen the night before, her beauty was no longer a source of pride. Now it was a temptation… and an impossibly strong one at that. He felt his manhood stir, and felt an animalistic need to possess her take over him. Oh, how he loved his Lucy, but this was so much more than that. He wanted to bear her down, taste her, feel her, and make her a woman. He needed to thrust into her roughly, over and over, and feel her writhe underneath him, moaning and screaming. He needed to make her his own, forever, his daughter, his whore, his slave. He needed to break her.



But he loved her… he needed to make her enjoy this, or she would run. Oh, the agony of those two desires… to possess and ravish, or to treat her as a father should? Was there a way of doing both?



“My lovely daughter,” he whispered, unable to contain himself. Before his very eyes, he watched as Lucy’s skin grew flushed and tiny impressions of her nipples rose up underneath the thin cotton of her nightgown. His throat tightened, as did his pants. He lay down beside her, feeling the softness of her hair. When he lay down, his eyes fell on the book on her nightstand.



He gasped a little. She’d taken it.



She saw what he was looking at, and looked back at him, panicked.



“Don’t be angry, father, I was just curious! I don’t mean to be wicked, I cannot help it! I-”



“Hush,” he said, drawing her to him in an embrace. This was his opening, his opportunity. He seized it with fervor. “You need not be ashamed.”



“Father-”



“I said hush,” he said roughly. “If you were curious, you should have just asked. I would be more than happy to explain anything to you.”



She looked at him, confused. Jack pressed his advantage.



“Let me touch you,” he said, gently. “I’ll show you what a good father does for his daughter.” While he spoke, he put one of his hands on her calf, running it up her leg underneath the flimsy nightdress.



“Papa, I don’t know-”



“Yes, I am,” he said. “I am your Papa, your father. You must answer to me… But I promise I’ll make you feel good…” he ran his hand across her smooth, untouched thigh.



“We shouldn’t-”



He pushed himself up on his arms, so he was raised above her. “Lucy. I want to do something for you, but I want you to do something for me.” He leaned down and kissed the sweet skin of her neck, biting lightly until he reached her ear. He nibbled on her soft earlobe, and then whispered to her. “Let me touch you.”



“Papa-”



“It would make me so happy,” he pleaded desperately. “I’ll make you happy, too.”



“Will we be like the father and daughter in the book I read?” Lucy asked, her blue eyes curious and excited.



“Yes, just like them,” he said with a smile. “Did you like those books?”



Lucy blushed furiously, nodding and not meeting his eyes.



“I’m glad, Lucy… that makes me very happy. Now,” he said, raising her nightgown a bit. “Take this off please.”



Lucy sat up and, after only a bit of hesitation, pulled her dress over her head. Jack gasped, and groaned. She was even more beautiful up close.



“Lucy… you are so beautiful. What a beautiful woman,” he said, bringing himself close to her. He made her lie back down, and admired her flawless body. Lucy was the picture of youth and virginity. Her breasts were new, the skin smooth and unmarked, her pink nipples pert and hard. Her stomach was flat, her waste curving in deliciously. Her sex, clothed modestly with a dusting of trimmed hair, gleamed with desire.



“Mmm…” Jack said, running his hands over his daughter, his fingertips lightly brushing her shoulders, arms, stomach, before he reached her breasts. Lucy was breathing heavily, from both nervous anxiety and desire. Her skin was incredibly flushed, and her pulse was racing.



“I promise I will only touch you tonight,” Jack said solemnly, looking into Lucy’s eyes. “I only want to make you happy. But I don’t think I can take more than one night without any satisfaction. Tonight will be about you. It makes me happy to teach you… but I expect reciprocation as soon as possible.”



“Yes father,” she said obediently. Jack smiled; she had no idea what she was agreeing to, virgin that she was.



“Good girl. You do you know to please a man, don’t you?”



She blushed, happy that he was satisfied with her.



“Now…” he said, and resumed. His fingers brushed across her body, until they reached her small, girlish breasts. Her breath caught when he traced around her nipple, not quite touching her yet.



He could hardly believe what he was doing: sitting on Lucy’s bed, practically molesting her. But he could not resist now. He was a man possessed. And who could blame him? He had a willing, teenaged virgin in his bed who was panting and wet. What man could resist?



Lucy felt her blood pulsing in her veins as her father began rubbing her nipples with his fingers. She jumped when he first touched them, and then let out an involuntary groan.



“Papa…” she said, closing her eyes. He always took such good care of her, and here he was again, taking care of her body. She felt his warmth, his strength, and his protective love as he looked over her body.



“You’re mine, Lucy,” he declared, growling in his throat.



“I am, Papa… I am yours,” she said, and he descended on her breasts. “Oh!”



He began to suckle her, and she had to close her eyes. She pushed her breast up, so her father could get more of it in his mouth. Pressing back, Lucy did not care that she seemed like a loose girl from a common inn. She could only concentrate on how wonderful her father’s teeth felt as he lightly chewed her.



“This is so much better than the books!” she gasped, breathless. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”



“I honestly do not know,” Jack said. Once he’d made the leap that he could use his daughter in this fashion, he was amazed at how simple it was. He’d been alone in this isolated area with her for so long, no other women. It had been so long since he’d had a woman, and here was a beautiful, willing one. Why had he not seduced her earlier? Maybe he had to wait for her to open his eyes to her beauty.



Possessed by the realization that this was Lucy, his own beautiful daughter, Jack moved downwards. Lucy groaned in protest when he stopped suckling her.



“No! Father, please-”



“Hush Lucy,” he commanded. “Be patient.”



“Yes, Papa,” she obeyed, but looked pained.



“Oh, Jesus,” he said, when he parted her thighs. The musk of her sex overwhelmed him, and his manhood began to pulse painfully. It demanded to be thrust into her. She was flawless… a pink rose, a few drops of her wetness already running downwards onto the white bedspread. Her tiny virgin opening was dripping and begging for attention. Jack sat up, and Lucy saw the huge bulge in his pants.



“Father,” she gasped, shocked. She had never seen it before.



He stared into her eyes for a long time, and that was when it truly hit him. They had passed into a new stage. Lucy was naked, still breathing heavy, dripping with arousal for her father. Meanwhile his cock was stiffer than he’d ever remembered it being, including how aroused he’d been the night before. The prone girl laying in front of him, flushed and wanton, was his baby. But that only made it better… the sinful act with this pure angel was so delicious.



“Say that again,” he demanded.



“Father,” she whispered. “Papa… please… I’m aching with desire. Do something, please!”



Her face became twisted with pain, and she opened her legs far towards him, drawing his hand toward her cunt. “Touch me, Papa,” she begged. “I need you…!”



He put himself back into position, facing her cunt.



“Papa…” she whimpered, near tears.



“Sweetheart,” he murmured, putting his hands on her thighs to keep them parted. “I’m going to taste you…”



With that, Jack put his mouth on his daughter’s sex and slowly licked, drinking in her juices.



“Nn… eh!” Lucy grunted, jolting against his mouth. “Pa- oh my… Mmm… God!”



She was completely gone. She thrust herself against her father’s mouth, and he had to put his hands hard against her thighs and hold them down as she thrust against his face, trying to get more stimulation. He had planned on using his fingers on her, but that was impossible as she thrashed against him so desperately.



Jack felt with his tongue until he found her hard, tiny bud.



“My girl…” he murmured against her and then began to suck on Lucy’s clitoris.



“Ugh!” she yelled. “Papa! Father! Oh… that feels… please… don’t stop…!”



Lucy wrapped her hands in her dear father’s gray hair and drew him in closer. Her stomach almost ached from excitement as she thrust against him, her breasts flushed, tossing her head back and forth in desperation.



Once again Jack witnessed his daughter lose her identity and become reduced to a writhing, moaning nymph, but this time it was all due to him. If someone else was in the room, all they would be able to hear would be Lucy’s moans and screams, and the soft wet noises of Jack’s lips on his daughter’s dripping sex.



“Lucy…”



“Oh, please father, please… Oh, thank you… I needed… Oh God… finish me… this is… everything…” her whole body began to shake and tense. “Father! Papa! Ahh!!! AH!”



Her scream of pleasure made the hairs on his neck stand on end, and he felt a gush of precum escape his manhood. He sucked her hard as she shook against him, until she collapsed, gasping for air.



“Lucy…” he said, rising up over her and wiping his mouth.



Her hair was tangled, her cheeks flushed, her eyes unfocused.



“Thank… you…” she panted, utterly spent.



“Goodnight, Lucy,” Jack said, getting up and leaving, taking her nightdress with him.



He closed the door behind him and collapsed against it, ripping open his trousers and wrapping his hand around his cock, pumping at manic speed. It only took him a few seconds to cum, shooting his seed onto Lucy’s virginal, lacy nightgown. Ropes of it landed on the cotton, soiling the girlish garment forever, marking it as his property.



After he’d cum, he sat down on the ground, exhausted. Tonight, he’d given Lucy enough pleasure to make her want him.



Tomorrow, he would make her his own.

“I’m not sorry about what I did,” Sophie purred, not rising up from where she knelt beside his couch.



“You shouldn’t be,” he replied, glancing quickly around to see if either of his sons or any of their pals were in earshot. “it was the best blow job I ever had.”



She blushed charmingly, eyes glancing away, then looking up to meet his. “Well, I get lots of practice with guys my own age, and then I discovered how much older guys like pumping their gobs of goo into the throat of girls young enough to be their daughter. Doing them the favour really gets me off. I absolutely loved oral sex, both giving and receiving, though of course blow jobs are just so much easier. The moment I’m alone with a guy, anywhere anytime, it seems to be all that I can think about.”



Her redness spread from her cheeks to her hairline, and down her throat to her exposed upper chest.



“Of course, I like it best when the guy is more than willing to return the favour, though we need to be a bit more discrete about when and where if the guy is also going to go down on me…a bit more discrete, anyways. “



She giggled, sounding very girlish, even younger than her nineteen years. “Sixty-nine is my favourite of course – I’ve dreamt of going to Paris on my honeymoon ever since I heard that they call it soixante -neuf.”



She chewed her lower lip pensively, perhaps thinking she had said too much to an older man with whom she had an intimate situation, turned slightly awkward – practically strangers, and even more fucked up by the fact that she was a chum of his younger son.



“Oh, sorry, I think that’s enough about me.”



He guessed that she had embarrassed herself with her confession, or maybe was upset that his cock, which neither of them had bothered to tuck back into his shorts, was rising again as he pictured her naked, her thighs spread wide, his tongue lapping up that sweet nectar. He had not eaten pussy in years, but still recalled the taste as the best part of life.



His misconception was cleared up a moment later, as she spoke again.



“Did your wife like to give head? I appreciate your compliment but if she was one of those uptight prudes who thought that the only meat passing their lips needed to be eaten with a fork, it would hardly qualify you to judge. Unless of course, you liked to shop around.”



The blush returned. Her head turned a fraction, first one way, then the other.



“I am such a fool,” she mumbled, almost to herself. “Just because I got away with sucking you off while you slept is no reason for me to insult you.”



“I’m not offended,” Dennis chuckled. “In fact, more than a little flattered that you would think I could have had enough women to conduct a survey. While I was married, I did my shopping at home.”



Suddenly, he realized, feeling his face heat up, it was his turn to blush.



“Though my ex and I shared a healthy voyeurism. We felt that imagination was good spice for the marriage.” Dennis confessed, “Too bad she couldn’t stop at fantasy. Maybe we’d still be married.”



‘God, now I sound pathetic’ Dennis thought to himself.



“But reality is so much more fun,” she replied, and then sighed. “Temptation was the first sin after all.”



She had a wicked smile for a young woman, barely more than a girl, talking about sin.



“Where does carnal knowledge rank?” Dennis heard himself answer, without consciously willing the words to emerge from his mouth.



She laughed lustily, straight from her toes. “I’m not sure that a blow job – even a great one – really qualifies as carnal knowledge. Do you think it does?”



Dennis nodded slowly, then spoke carefully. “I am afraid it must. Doesn’t ‘carnal’ mean ‘sexual’? And a cock is definitely a sex organ. And what better way to come to know it than to swallow a mouthful of cum straight from the spurter?”



Sophie laughed again. Dennis grinned. It was a long time since he had felt like this. Risk taking was not his normal style. He noted that his cock surely liked the chatter – he had not got so stiff so quickly in years, and his balls were pulled tight against his body, signaling that another load was getting ready.



“Well, then, if we’ve already had sex, I guess that …”



“Sex? Who said we had sex?” Dennis interrupted. “Like Bill Clinton, I don’t confuse a blow job with sex.”



Sophie crinkled up her beautiful brow. Dennis realized that she probably had no idea about Bill Clinton’s famous sex scandal.



Then the young woman chuckled, less nervously than before, seemingly encouraged by his talk about sex. She clearly liked sex. He liked how the sound seemed to start deep in her belly, filling her chest, and then rumbling out of her throat. That throat which had already met his meat. That throat which seemed more swanlike and sexy the more they spoke.



Dennis could feel the fullness of his cock rising up from his shorts. He desperately wanted her to move her eyes from his to stare at it, and then meet his eyes again, to share an acknowledgement of her effect upon him, and only then, for Sophie to touch him yet again.



“Would you like to have sex?” Sophie asked, still meeting his eyes. The way her tongue flicked along her lower lip told Dennis that she too was ready.



“With you?” he asked, feeling foolish even as the words came out of his mouth. Still she rewarded him with another burst of laughter.



“No, with my mother while I watch,” she said sarcastically, “Gawd, you are SUCH an old perv.”



Her playfulness was punctuated by her hand rising up and gently touching his stiff organ, with a light stroke starting with the tip of her baby finger grazing his gaping pee hole and then her fingers curling into a very loose fist, her palm caressing his shaft so loosely that it was almost like he dreamt it. Her thumb and forefinger grasping him at the root as she rose up from her haunches and sucked the pre cum from his helmet was definitely real though.



Sophie’s breath bathed his hardness as she spoke softly.



“But not another blow job, not now. I want you hard enough to fuck my cunt with your meat. First though, I’m going to have you put that mouth where your mouth is, and get me off. Prove that you really like eating pussy. I want you to be steely hard when I come. THEN we can have what you old guys call ‘proper sex’.”



She teased just the very tip of his cock once more with her tongue before she started to stretch, rising from the floor. Without any apparent regard for who might enter, or even see through the front picture window, she quickly tugged her gauzy peasant blouse off over her head, tossing it to the floor. Her tender firm tits stood proud, no bra needed, the cherry red nipples erect with excitement.



He grinned up, his eyes inevitably drawn to the almost imperceptible sway of her tits, the nipples almost begging for attention. His tongue flicked over his lips. His cock throbbed excitedly.



Dennis’ hand automatically reached to stroke his cock. Sophie bent down, swatting it away.



“Bad boy,” she giggled. “I told you to save that for later.”



This lowered her chest within inches of Dennis’ face. He only had to sit up slightly to take her right nipple into his mouth, drawing it deep past his lips, gripping it in his teeth and gently tugging. This, Sophie did not object to. Instead, she sighed and took two handfuls of Dennis’ hair, holding his head tight to her bosom as she wriggled with joy. Her nubbin tasted just as he imagined – fresh, sweet, no saltiness of sweat, no staleness. For Dennis, Sophie really was a dream girl. Any thoughts or worries of being interrupted were washed away by rapture.



Dennis had nothing to do with his hands, so he ran them up Sophie’s thighs. She shivered with exhilaration, lifting her left leg over Dennis onto the couch, straddling his thighs, her right foot still on the floor. Dennis caressed her hips, her skirt bunched around her waist. The heat radiating off Sophie’s body was trapped between them, making Dennis squirm. They kissed, gently at first, but soon building to a solid tongue twisting, lip nibbling intensity which caused Dennis to feel more alive than he had in years.



Sophie used the leverage provided by her knee up on the cushion to slide her body along Dennis’, forcing him to reluctantly allow her teat to pop free from his lips and to plant a long trail of kisses down her perfectly flat abdomen. As his tongue circled her navel, his fingers found the clasp holding her skirt shut. With a minimum of fuss, he was able to loosen the waist enough to slide it to her knees. She shimmied and freed her right leg, though the fabric was still bunched around her left knee, up beside Dennis on the couch.



Though she was braless, Sophie had not gone commando. A wispy red piece of lace masked her honey pot, held in place by delicate strings no wider than dental floss.



Dennis gave one glance up to meet Sophie’s lustful eyes. She gave him a tender smile and nodded encouragement. He hooked his thumbs into either side of her lacy thong, and rolled the tiny lingerie clear of her loins. At this point, Sophie lifted herself entirely onto the couch, lying atop Dennis. She raised herself just enough that the underwear slid down, and then she kicked it free.



Her thigh pressed against his belly, as if Sophie was a cat marking Dennis as her property. They kissed slowly, deeply, tongues intertwined. Sophie pulled back slightly.



“I almost can’t breathe” Sophie sighed. “You make me so hot, I never felt anything like it. I’m burning up.”



Dennis was not able to fully appreciate the magnificence of Sophie nude, because she had slid her reclining body so that her tender young pussy was presented to his lips. It barely registered to him that Sophie had shaved, like he assumed most young women did these days, but she had retained just a delicate heart shaped fringe of reddish hair to frame her opening.



“You have such a beautiful body,” Dennis said softly before his mouth was otherwise engaged.



With Sophie’s wet mound pressed against his lips, it was easy for Dennis to indulge her desire to fulfill his long standing fantasy, slipping his tongue deep between Sophie’s most tender folds while his hands caressed and kneaded her breasts.



“Do you like this as much as I do?” Sophie asked as she writhed against Dennis.



“You know any man would be a fool not to love eating you,” he replied as he paused for breath, his fingers busy giving her nipples a tweak. “You taste so fucking sweet.”



He stopped talking as his hands flowed down her back, cupping her ass, pulling her cunt closer to his face, burying his tongue deeper, as his lips teased her clit. Although it was a long time since Dennis had eaten a woman, it had only taken the slightest taste to reawaken his powerful instincts. He speared his tongue down into her depths, then pulled back, spread his tongue flat, and licked from the bottom to top of her labia, until she was crazy with desire, demanding that he attend to her swollen clit.



“I love how you make love to me…not just try to fuck me like the guys my age,” Sophie chuckled lustily. “I am so going to reward you for this. Over and over, I hope.”



Still he teased her, dancing his mouth all around the rose bud, flicking it, kissing it, but mainly stimulating the flesh all around it. He wished that he could see it, but he knew it was distended, growing like a baby cock.



Sophie cried out, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet before.”



Dennis added a finger, plunging it deep up inside her canal as his lips finally closed around her clit. Her nectar flowed over and he sampled her sweetness. Now it was Dennis’ turn to moan in ecstasy.



She shifted position slightly, spreading her legs as far apart as she could without falling off the couch, grinding her hips against his face, forcing his tongue to fuck deep into her cunt. He continued this for what might have been a minute, or five, time having lost all meaning to the two mismatched lovers. As Sophie’s body shuddered with joy, Dennis placed his hands on her hips and pushed her back just a little so that he had room to lick from the bottom of her wet slit to the top.



Sophie cried out as his tongue slid over her pink folds, her aching clit still swollen and firm, jutting out from its hood. She moved one hand from Dennis’ hair and began strumming her own organ.



Dennis paused and told Sophie not to hold herself back. Neither of them knew whether anybody was outside, but they were way past caring.



“Oh, fuck, you are the besssstttt,” Sophie screamed as she began to climax. “I wish I could meet the woman who taught you how to do that. I’d love to thank her.”



Her excitement flowed freely, but Dennis was so entranced that he could have happily drowned. Sophie pulled back instinctively, gathering herself as the waves crashed within. Dennis groaned as he continued to nibble her clit while lapping at her wetness.



He had to hold her hips hard in his fists to keep her loins tight to his face. He was sure he could feel the electric current coursing through her body. He rolled his tongue into a little tube, surrounding her nub from all sides at once, a little trick he had learnt from his wife.



“N…no…one… has… ever done… THAT before… incredible …” Sophie panted just before she surrendered to the most intense orgasm of her young life. Her hips writhing against Dennis’ face until she was totally satisfied. She sank down his body, head coming to rest on his shoulder, bodies pressed tight together.



His old cock was fully recovered from her blow job, the hardness trapped between their bodies.



After a moment, Sophie giggled, more like a girl than the young woman she was, and said with a sigh, “I think somebody is ready to give me that fucking that we both need.”

Edward woke up alone. That was normal. Ever since his wife left him he always woke up alone. At least it was Saturday and he didn’t have to go into the office. He was also naked. That was not normal. What happened last night, he wondered not yet fully awake. He sat up suddenly as he remembered. Last night he went to The Harbor, one of the newer clubs in town, with the project team from the office to celebrate the completion of their latest game. He swung his legs out of bed and shook his head. Did last night really happen, he thought.



The hard driving techno beat of the DJ’s mix filled the club. The dance floor was packed and it was not even ten o’clock. Even for a Friday night this place is really jumping, Edward Faulk thought as he surveyed the room from his table. There were people at all of the tables and a crowd at the bar. He had a good vantage point equidistant from both and able to see just about everything.



He sighed and took a sip of his greyhound, wondering why he accepted the invitation tonight. He had been flattered when the other members of the project team invited him to celebrate the completion of the new mobile app. He realized that his companion had said something and turned to his boss, “Excuse me Michael I missed that.”



“I said under budget and ahead of schedule, Edward. I know Dancing Diner is just a silly little time wasting game but the company should make a nice profit from it. But the rumors you’ve heard are true we are going to keep the team together. The announcement will be Monday. We should have a new project in a couple of weeks.”



“That’s great news Michael,” he said. It really was good news. Andrew put together a good team to create Dancing Diner, perhaps the best Edward had ever worked with. The only way things could have been better is if it were his team. He shrugged, knowing that ship had sailed long ago. A missed deadline here, a blown budget there, and a general disinterest with work during his divorce five years ago and Edward Faulk was off the fast track. He knew he was good at his job, always in demand when someone was putting a design team together. He also knew that he would never get another chance to manage a project.



“I know what you want, Edward,” Michael said sympathetically. “You’ve done good work here at Dinax and I’ve always given you good reviews. But honestly I don’t know if you will ever be a project manager here.” He shook his head.



“I know, Michael” he said. “You have a good team here and I’m happy to be part of it.” He looked over his boss’s shoulder at an approaching woman. “And now Denise is back.” He smiled at Michael’s wife. Denise was a tall woman in her late thirties like Michael. Like Michael she was also a little heavy set, something they both attributed to her cooking. The red dress she wore tonight showed her ample figure to her advantage.



“Thank you for keeping an eye on Michael while I was gone. I didn’t want to leave him alone with all these pretty young girls. Now he is going to take me dancing. You should grab someone yourself and have some fun.” Denise pulled Michael to his feet.



“Right Denise, I’m sure all these kids are just waiting for a chance to dance with the oldest man in the room.”



“Don’t hold their age against them,” she called over her shoulder as she led her husband to the dance floor.



Edward shook his head and laughed. At forty-nine he may not have been the oldest man in the room but was pretty sure he was in the top three or four. He was easily fifteen to twenty years older than the other members of the team, but knew they considered him a friend. So even though he did not socialize with them much, he decided to accept tonight’s invitation. If he hadn’t been with them, he never would have come to a club like The Harbor. If he was going to be completely honest with himself, he would have to admit that he probably wouldn’t have gotten in if he hadn’t been with the others.



“Of course the scenery here is a lot nicer than Carl’s,” he said quietly thinking of the sports bar where he usually spent his infrequent nights out. Edward smiled and took another sip of his drink. There was Beth, Dr. Eason, from the office. He could see her on the dance floor with Jason; no one in human resources would approve of how closely they were dancing. He always thought the redhead was attractive, but the short grey dress she wore tonight showed of her curves a lot better than her normal office attire.



There were certainly others as well. He had expected as much when he walked in the door; however, he had been surprised by the number of beautiful women in the club. The tall brunette with the truly impressive chest for example, every man in the club turned to look when she stepped onto the dance floor. Or the two blondes sitting at the next table, coolly surveying the room while they searched for their future dance partners. Edward had smiled at one of them when they happened to make eye contact and received a politely distant smile in return.



He thought about approaching one of the women at the club. It would certainly be different. Edward did not date much these days. On the rare occasions he went out anymore, it seemed like the women he met were more interested in talking about their ex-husbands then they were talking to him. Frankly he didn’t care; he almost never brought up Helen in conversation and could not understand why they thought he would be interested in hearing about Max or Dave or whoever.



Edward shook his head. He just could not see himself chasing after one of these twenty somethings. Besides, he thought, he could do without the ribbing he would take at the office on Monday. He sat back in his chair and took another sip of his drink. Michael and Denise were driving tonight, so he planned to quietly drink and enjoy the view. It was a good evening and Edward began to enjoy himself a little bit. Although he never left the table, his coworkers did come back from the dance floor from time to time to talk or have a drink. It was probably the most social interaction he had had outside of the office in the last six months.



It was about a quarter to twelve and Edward’s drink was empty. Since none of the waitresses seemed to be in a hurry to stop at his table, he decided to walk over to the bar to get a refill. As he crossed the room he noticed a couple women looking him over. I guess all the exercise has paid off, he thought. His doctor had suggested he start about a year after his divorce, to help combat the stress and depression he had been feeling. It did nothing to help with the loss; however physically, he felt better than he had in a long time. He did not have a weightlifter’s physique, but was as fit as most of the younger men in the room.



The bar was still fairly crowded, although a few spots had opened. The closest was near a rowdy group of very well dressed young men, stockbrokers, based on what he could hear of their conversation. As Edward approached, he saw the stunning brunette from the dance floor storm away from them, their mocking laughter trailing in her wake. He continued along the bar looking for if not friendlier than at least more polite company. There was a space between a couple locked in an embrace and a slender brunette in a loose fitting neon pink dress.



“Do you mind?” Edward asked as he slipped into the narrow space.



“Not at all, but you may want to ask them,” she replied with a gesture towards the couple behind him.



Edward ventured a slight grin, “I don’t think they’d notice.”



The young woman smiled. It was the first genuine smile he had seen all night. “You’d better sit down the bartenders are busy tonight.”



Edward took the seat next to her. He had noticed her when she arrived at the club with a couple of her friends. The bright pink dress against her olive complexion drew his eye. They had arrived too late to get a table, so went to the bar. He friends had quickly moved to the dance floor, but she remained sipping her drink and talking to people as they passed.



Before he could speak she introduced herself, “I’m Amanda Fontana.”



“Edward Faulk, it’s nice to meet you Amanda.”



“Edward, not Ed or Eddie?”



“Ed is okay, but please not Eddie.”



“Alright, Edward it is.”



While he was waiting for the bartender, they began to chat. Edward knew that small talk was not his strong suit so he listened attentively and asked the occasional question. She was a senior at Stanford about to finish her degree in English Literature. When she mentioned Shakespeare, he asked what her favorite play was. She immediately launched into a discussion of King Lear, and began to explain how the author used comedic techniques to drive home the powerful tragedy of the story. Ordinarily Edward’s eyes would begin to glaze over at this point, but Amanda was so passionate about the subject that he really wished he has seen the play.



A bartender finally arrived to take his order. She was a petite redhead wearing the same blue green blouse and black slacks as the other bartenders. Edward thought it looked a lot better on her. She asked if Edward wanted to buy the lady a drink.



“Actually Joni,” he said with a glance at her nametag, “I wanted a drink myself, but why not?” Edward knew he was trying too hard, but he suddenly, desperately wanted to keep talking with this fascinating young woman.



Gee thanks,” said Amanda with a wry little smile on her lips, “I’ll have another Diet Coke.”



“And I’ll have a greyhound.”



“I’ll bring them right over,” said Joni.



Edward turned back to Amanda. “A Diet Coke?” he asked.



She shrugged. “I’m driving tonight. What’s a greyhound?”



“Vodka and Grapefruit juice.”



“So it’s like a screwdriver but awful,” she said a sour expression twisting her face. Edward grinned in response.



Joni came back with their drinks and Edward laid a twenty on the bar. She said thanks and was called away by a couple at the other end of the bar. The couple returned to their conversation. He started to ask her more about her work at school, but she interrupted him. “I’ve been sitting here talking about myself nonstop. Tell me about Edward.”



“There’s not much to tell. I’m a software engineer at Dinax systems, mobile apps mostly.”



“And the people you’re here with? The ones who kept coming over to your table, no offense Ed, they seem more like my crowd than yours.”



“That’s certainly true,” Edward chuckled. “They’re my coworkers. We just finished a project. They wanted to celebrate and were nice enough to invite the old guy.”



“Ah, I see. You’re their boss.”



Edward’s smile vanished. “I’m nobody’s boss Amanda, not anymore,” he said looking down at his glass.



“I’m sorry Edward,” said Amanda leaning forward to place her hand on his, “I didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”



“That’s alright, I used to be a manager at another company, but I dropped the ball on a couple of projects. All of a sudden no one wanted me to manage anything.” He shook his head then looked up His green eyes staring into her dark ones. “It really doesn’t matter now. I’m part of a good team at Dianx, and I’m still a damn good programmer. I’ve moved on.” He sat up straight trying to think of a way to bring a lighter tone back to the conversation. “About the only time it bothers me is when I’m trying to impress a pretty girl.”



“So you want to impress me? Let’s try a different subject.” Amanda said shaking her head and smiling. She tapped his ring finger. “You don’t wear a ring here. I figure you’re not using an office party as an opportunity to cheat on your wife.”



Edward looked back at her with a wry smile. Amanda winced when she saw it. “My wife left me after I got the job at Dinax. I can’t really blame her. It was a step backwards, less money, less prestige. And frankly when my career began to unravel, I was a bit of a mess.” He sighed and ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “So have I impressed you yet?”



“Yes,” Amanda said frankly. “Not the job stuff, I really don’t care about that. But it sounds like you had a few pretty rough years. A lot of people would become bitter and cynical after that, but I don’t think that happened to you. I mean the way your coworkers kept going back to talk with you tonight; it’s obvious that they like you. And sitting here with me you seem like a pretty nice guy.” Her smile turned wicked, “At least when you’re not chatting up college girls.”



Edward sat back in his chair and laughed; as he did he pulled his hand from underneath hers. “You’re one to talk. It sounds like you spent a lot of time tonight checking out the old man on the other side of the room.” Amanda’s cheeks flushed a bit and she dropped her eyes.



Edward finished his drink and set the glass down on the bar. He leaned forward and hesitantly took her hand. “Like you said, let’s change the subject,” he said, “Where are you from? That should be safe.”



“I’m from South Dakota. You know, a small town girl who wanted to see the big city.” She spent a few minutes telling him about the rural town where she grew up. Talking about home relaxed Amanda, and the two settled into a comfortable conversation. They did not discuss anything particularly important. However, Edward found himself responding to Amanda’s breezy self confidence and enthusiasm in a way that he had not done to anyone in a very long time.



The couple talked for about forty-five minutes before one of Amanda’s friends joined them at the bar. “Excuse me, Amanda?”



“Emily,” Amanda said smiling, “Edward, this is my friend Emily.”



“Hello Emily,” Edward said extending his hand. Like Amanda, Emily had dark black hair. Her skin however was very pale and she had crystal blue eyes.



“Amanda, Kelly and I met up with Ken and his friend Jessie. We’re taking off and going over to Jessie’s apartment. Do you want to come?”



“No thanks Emily, I’m going to stay awhile longer.”



“Are you sure?” Emily asked, looking skeptically at Edward as she spoke.



“Of course, you guys have fun. Tell Ken I said hello.”



As Emily walked away Edward turned to Amanda and said, “I hope that isn’t going to cause you problems.”



Amanda waived a hand in the air and turned back to Edward with a smile. “Oh no, we’re fine.”



Edward waived Joni over and ordered another drink switching to tomato juice. “Are you driving tonight?” Amanda asked squeezing his hand.



“No one of the guys from the office is, but I’ve had enough.



As the couple continued to talk Edward lost track of time. In fact he lost track of everything except for her smile and her dark brown eyes. So he was taken by surprise when Amanda said it was getting late and asked him if he needed a ride home. He looked around the club and saw his coworkers were all still enjoying themselves. “It looks like everyone is still here, but I’d love a ride if you wouldn’t mind?”



“Not at all,” she said. They smiled warmly at each other as they got to their feet.



Edward lived just outside the downtown area, so it was not a long drive to his home. When Amanda pulled into his driveway, he asked if she would like to come in for a glass of wine or a cup of tea. “I’d love some tea.” She replied.



Edward chuckled, “That’s probably best. I can’t remember when I opened the bottle of Zin I have in the fridge.”



Amanda laughed and shook her head in response. “Spoken like a true bachelor.”



They walked into his home, a small bungalow, and into the kitchen. Amanda asked if she could use the restroom. Edward pointed to a hallway exiting the room and said, “Go ahead, I’ll put the kettle on.”



Edward spent a few minutes getting things ready before she returned. When he heard her heels on the kitchen’s tile floor, he turned and said, “It will be ready in a moment.”



“Edward,” Amanda said, “I really don’t want any tea.”



His shoulders slumped a little as he turned to face the young woman. He smiled sadly. “I didn’t think so, but I didn’t want you to leave.”



She crossed the small kitchen and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “I’d like to stay a little longer, if that’s alright?”



“Are you sure? I should tell you; it’s been a long time for me.”



“That’s okay,” she said and kissed him softly. Edward put his hands on her waist and pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her body as she pressed her breasts against him. Amanda put her arms around his neck as her lips parted. Her tongue darted forward and touched his lips. Edward responded deepening the kiss. He slid his hands over her ass, squeezing her tightly. He groaned into Amanda’s mouth as she ground herself against his stiffing cock.



The tea kettle whistled behind them. They broke off the kiss chuckling together. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea Amanda?” he asked. Amanda shook her head. Edward moved the kettle off the burner and turned off the stove.



Amanda stepped close to him, and reached up to run her fingers through his hair. “I think I saw a bedroom back there. Come on,” She said quietly. She took his hand and led Edward out of his kitchen.



They walked down the short hallway to his bedroom. When they entered, he put his hands on her waist stopping her. He embraced her from behind pressing himself against her. Edward kissed the base of her neck and slowly worked his way up to her ear, savoring the taste of her skin. Amanda sighed contentedly. He slid his hands, up and over her belly to cup her breasts. They were larger than they appeared in her loose fitting dress. Gently, Edward bit down on her neck dragging his teeth across her soft skin.



“Oh, I like that,” she said in a breathy whisper that was almost a moan. She reached behind her with her right hand and stroked his erection through his slacks. She pulled his head forward, with her left hand and turned her head to kiss him again.



“I think you’d better unzip me,” she said stepping out of his embrace. Edward complied and she let her dress fall to the floor. Amanda walked over to his bed removing her bra as she went. She bent over when she reached the bed and slid her panties over her cheeks letting them fall down along her legs. She climbed onto the bed and knelt facing him, beckoning him to join her.



Edward swallowed hard. He had never seen anything so beautiful. He crossed the room and kissed her cradling her face with one hand as he squeezed her breast with the other. They kissed for a few minutes, their hands exploring each other’s body. He pulled away, “Amanda wait,” he said reluctantly, “I’m old enough to be your father.”



“I don’t care,” she replied firmly, “I want to be with you tonight.” She leaned forward to kiss his neck as she quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Amanda bit his neck hard at the base of his jaw. Edward groaned deep in his throat and let his shirt fall to the floor. He ran his fingers through her long black hair and pulled her up for another kiss.



As they kissed, Amanda opened his belt and unbuttoned his slacks. She reached into his briefs and caressed his cock with her fingertips. Edward bent forward and brought his mouth to her breasts. He kissed one nipple then the other as he massaged them from underneath. Amanda moaned softly then smiled as she heard his breathing become ragged. She pulled his head away from her chest and looked straight into his eyes. Smiling she asked, “Do you still think you’re too old Edward?” He laughed out loud in response and kissed her firmly.



Amanda ran her fingernails down along his sides and held him by his hips. Using him for support she pushed herself back into a crouch, resting on her knees with her legs spread wide. She looked up with a mischievous grin and removed Edward’s briefs. His erection came free and pointed directly at her face. “Perfect,” she breathed.



Amanda leaned forward and took the head of his cock into her mouth. Edward shuddered as she swirled her tongue around the head. She stretched forward and took more of him into her mouth. Edward wasn’t huge, perhaps a little larger than average. She braced her right hand on his waist and her left on the bead as she worked her mouth up and down on his shaft in a steady rhythm. He took hold of her head in both hands. His breathing became quick and even more ragged. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. After a few minutes he said between clenched teeth, “Amanda, I’m going to cum.”

I had just finished a nice dinner and was walking back to the Bed and Breakfast where I was staying. It was still light and there was an orange glow in the west where the sun had set over the Pacific. I thought a glass of wine would be just the thing before turning in. Fortunately, the B&B had some available, honor system of course. That’s what I like about them, so friendly, so trusting.



I travel a lot in my work, and I like to break from the mundane. I had come from Boston with business in San Francisco and Los Angeles. But rather than hop on a crowded plane to stay in another sterile airport hotel, I arranged to drive the rental car down the coast highway and overnight at this B&B along the way; an interesting place with character, history, perhaps a story to tell.



As I entered the sitting room, I found her there reading. Hungry for company after dining alone, I invited her to share the wine. Thanking me for “such a gracious offer, it would only be proper for a lady to accept”. She put her book aside, saying she must have read it a thousand times, and “The company of an interesting gentleman would be a welcome change”.



Her makeup was minimal and her blond hair was tightly pinned up in back, accentuating a graceful neck and jaw line. By her physical features, I placed her in her mid-twenties. Being nearly 45, myself, I find the allure of younger women seldom goes beyond the physical. The brain is very much a sex organ, and unless there is a connection at that level, I can lose interest quickly. Yet it became clear through conversation that she was mature, sophisticated, and intelligent beyond her years.



She said she’d been around for a long time, seen many people come and go. I asked why, if she lived in the area, she was staying at the inn. After a long pause, she said that she simply belonged here. In addition to the slightly odd things she was saying, and the way that she was saying them, there was something else different about her. She was elegantly dressed, but in a very old style. But this was California where anything goes, and it seemed charmingly fitting in this 100-year-old inn with its Victorian antiques.



Well into the second glass of wine, she pushed off one of her shoes and ran her foot a short distance up the inside of my pants leg. Intoxicated, not just from the wine, but with her as well, I accepted her tease and returned a smile. Having successfully tested the waters, she took the initiative to move from her chair to a spot next to me on the love seat. Closer to her, I caught a whiff of a dark, mysterious but hauntingly familiar perfume. I could feel my pulse quickening, my desire building.



More wine, more conversation, more closeness. Innocent touching. Arousal.



I suggested the intimacy of a stroll on the beach and she beamed. Leaving our shoes on the back porch, we followed a sandy path toward the sound of the ocean. The foam of the breaking waves was picking up the light of a full moon. Our hands soon found each other as we walked the half-mile or so to where a rock outcrop barred our way. Stopping, turning toward the ocean, she leaned back against me, pulling my arms around her like a wrap against the cool night air, and I bent my head down to nuzzle in the hair above her ear. Then she slowly turned to face me and, now holding both of her hands, I softly kissed one, then the other. Then I kissed her lips, briefly. Her eyes, gloriously blue even in the pallid moonlight, begged for more.



Another kiss, lingering, mouths open, breathing heavy, arms encircling, bodies melding.



We walked back toward the inn, her head on my shoulder. Before ascending the path up to the porch, she leaned close to my ear, and whispered, “I must have you tonight.” I told her of the fire she had ignited inside me as well. She said she must change into something more suitable and would be at the door to my room in 10 minutes time. I was about to tell her the room number when she said, “I know where I shall find you.”



I stopped by the sitting room to retrieve the wine and glasses; it appeared that I wouldn’t be nodding off to sleep any time soon. Back up in my room, a soft knock at the prescribed moment and I opened the door. She entered, wearing a nightgown of fine silk that, like her dress earlier, seemed from another time. It was gathered at her collarbone and flowed drapery-like to the floor with little ribbon ties down the front. It was just sheer enough that, in the soft light of the room, I could begin to picture her breasts among the folds of material. I offered her some more of the wine, but she turned it down, saying that I was all she needed.



We kissed again. Her hands went over my shoulders and behind my neck, mine settled in the small of her back. As our tongues explored each other’s mouths, I slid my hands down to her rear. Through the nightgown, I could feel no panties. With my fingers gripping each buttock, I pulled her close against my groin, wanting her to feel my hardening dick. Then I slowly slid my hands up her back; no bra either. Higher still, I reached her hair and removed the pins holding it in place. It cascaded down nearly to her waist, soft, blond, gentle curls. My fingers combed through its silkiness on their return to the small of her back where their journey had begun.



We parted slightly to gaze in each other’s eyes, and she said something about it having been a long time. She took my hands and brought them to her breasts. They were full and firm. I gently squeezed them, encircling her nipples with thumbs and fingers as if to draw their milk from them. She closed her eyes, softly moaning. I wanted to see her and feel her without the barrier of her nightgown. Beginning with the top ribbon, I slowly untied each one and, parting the fabric, gently kissed each square inch of her soft skin as it was revealed to me. As I worked my way down, I gradually lowered myself onto the settee that was behind me. The last ribbon was located between her breasts and I nuzzled in the warmth of her cleavage, inhaling more of her mysterious perfume. All the ribbons untied, her hands left my shoulders and she held her arms slightly out and behind her. The gossamer nightgown flowed off of her like water and pooled on the floor at her ankles. There was nothing more between my eyes and her rapturous beauty.



Her breasts were magnificent. Generous globes, puffy areolas, enticing nipples. As I was now seated, they were directly in front of my face, begging to be held, to be kissed, to be suckled. They were soon filling my hands and mouth to overflowing. Every time I pulled one of her nipples into my mouth, it swelled and hardened yet again. Soon she pushed back and I watched her glorious mounds rise and fall with her heavy breathing.



Unbuttoning my shirt and pushing it back off my shoulders, she paused to gaze at my hairy chest. Then unfastening my pants, she pulled them and my briefs off together. Seeing my dick standing up in the air, with an ardent look on her face, she again said something about it being a long time. Then dropping to her knees, she took my dick into her soft, surrounding cleavage. Wrapping her wonderful breasts around it, she bent down and kissed the head that was peeking over the top. Then she started rubbing my shaft, at once moving her breasts in opposite directions, then in unison up and down with long strokes. She gradually incorporated more use of her hands, rubbing my dick on her neck and face, adding more kisses. This evolved into licking and nibbling, and finally taking the head into her lips while stroking the shaft with her hands. She started bobbing her head up and down slowly, each time taking a little more of me into her mouth. Her golden locks were lightly brushing my thighs, adding their own elements of feeling. Her tongue was incredibly adept, finding every nook and cranny, and I was soon feeling a building orgasm. As the sensations increased, she slowed her pace, but continued drawing me nearer. When I was right at the threshold, so close that I could taste the other side, she withdrew her lips. Oh, how I loved to be teased in this way.



I stood up and, taking her hands, helped her rise as well, softly kissing each one, briefly sucking on her fingers. Gazing into each other’s eyes, she reached around my neck and I gracefully scooped her up into my arms, and carried her over to the bed. Laying her on it, I walked around to the end. Kneeling, I picked up her foot and began kissing, licking and nibbling my way up the inside of her calf. Rounding the corner of her knee, my destination came into view, glistening with wetness. Its musky aroma was drawing me in but I slowed to savor the ultra-smooth skin of her inner thighs with my lips and face. But her desires were strong, and pulling my hair, she guided me home. Long slow licks of her labia had her moaning with pleasure. I could see her clitoris swelling and peeking out from its little protective hood. It was demanding attention, but I knew the sweet rewards of anticipation.



I penetrated her vaginal opening with my tongue and her body stiffened. She was so juicy that I could cup my tongue and practically spoon out her nectar. I continued teasing her hole with my tongue as she squirmed on the bed. Finally, while in as far as I could reach, I began a long, slow lick up and out. Maintaining contact as I exited, I continued upward to find her clitoris. She shuddered as I licked it, swirling my tongue around it, sucking it into my mouth, gently pinching it with my lips. Her breathing was becoming shorter and faster, and I knew she was getting close. Suddenly, she gripped my hair in her fists and let out a squeal, squeezing my head between her thighs. Unrelentingly suckling her clitoris throughout her climax, I could feel the rhythmic contractions of her vulva against my chin. She screamed my name, which was very strange, because we somehow never got around to introductions. But now was not the time, as I was still locked onto her clitoris and she was still moaning and gasping for air.



When she calmed down, she said she wanted me to do it again, this time with my dick. I began a trail of kisses up her tummy, stopping to swirl my tongue in her naval. This made her laugh uncontrollably and struggle to resist. After having my fun, I was on my way again up to her wonderful breasts. They were so firm that they seemed to defy gravity as she lie on her back. I squeezed and suckled them as I had done earlier, until she was begging me to fuck her. Crawling forward a little more to where she could finally reach it, she wrapped the fingers of one hand around my aching dick and gazed into my eyes. “I’ve been waiting so long. I knew you would return.” Return? What was she talking about? But I couldn’t question as her other hand had already pulled me down, bringing our lips together. She sucked my tongue into her mouth, while rubbing the head of my penis in the folds of her labia.



Slowly, I lowered my hips and began to penetrate her. As the head passed the opening and she began to experience the full width of my cock, I could see nothing but fiery passion in her eyes. Again she spoke of it being such a long time and locked her feet behind my back. I continued sliding my entire length into her. Once completely buried, I just as slowly withdrew to where I was almost completely out. Then I repeated the process.



I continued with these long slow strokes, gradually increasing my speed. She pulled my upper body down further, wanting the full weight on hers. My arms were now free to encircle her in a tight embrace, while my dick kept pumping in and out of her vagina, faster and faster, slamming my pubic bone into her clitoral mound. Her breathing was becoming short again as she approached another climax. I could feel my own building as well. We were tight in each other’s arms with orgasms on a collision course. We were both getting closer. Closer. I buried my face into the pillow, she bit into the nape of my neck, and together we exploded in orgasm. Our bodies convulsed together, me shooting load after load of my seed deep into her, her vaginal muscles rhythmically assuring she would not miss a single drop. Slowly the convulsions softened to twitching, then to throbbing, then faded away entirely.



We were spent. After a few moments of heavy breathing, I rolled off of her, and she rolled with me. As I settled on my back, she came to rest on top of me, straddling me, arms still entwined, my dick still inside of her.



What did she mean by my return? How did she know my name? I tried to recall having met her before. But it would have to wait until morning, for now she was fast asleep.



I awoke to sunlight and the songs of the birds coming through the open window. But I was alone in the bed. I looked around the room, but she was not there. Was it all just a wonderful dream? On the bureau were the mostly consumed wine and two glasses, one of them with traces of lipstick. In the mirror, I could see the mark where she had bit my neck in our throes of passion. I guessed she had returned to her room and I would be seeing her at breakfast.



I showered and was packing my things when I saw something lying on the floor. It was one of the silk ties from her nightgown. She’ll be wanting it to sew back on, I thought. As I picked it up, I noticed a spot of something on it that appeared to be dried blood. I put it in my jacket pocket.



I placed my bags by the front door, entered the dining room and took a place at the table. My host couple soon joined me. I asked if we should wait for the other guests, and they said that I was it. “We are always full on weekends, but a lone guest is not unusual for midweek.”



So, she was not a guest at the inn after all. Perhaps a friend of my hosts.



While eating breakfast, my eyes landed on something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and cause me to drop my fork. On the opposite wall was an old painting. It was my mystery lover looking back at me. She was wearing the same dress that she wore in the sitting room the previous evening.



“What’s the matter?” one of my hosts asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”



“Perhaps I h…” and I stopped myself. “Just a sudden chill. Could you please pass me some more of those waffles? They’re really great.”



After a few moments, I inquired about the woman in the portrait. They said her name was Lily. She was the lady of the house in the early 1900s. The painting and most of the furnishings were in the house when they bought it from a woman who was Lily’s sister, Agnes.



They continued the story. “The house was an inn back then, as it is today. Lily’s husband was a terrible man, always drinking, cavorting with the prostitutes at a brothel in the next town. He mostly ignored poor Lily, and she did all the work around the inn. One night he came home to find her sleeping with one of the guests, an older man from back east. In a rage, he murdered them both with a double barreled shot gun. He quickly left town and was never heard from again; some say he headed for Canada to escape the law. Lily’s sister Agnes was her only living relative, and after the property was tied up for many years, the courts decided she should have it. But she didn’t do much with it and finally sold it to us in 1964. We cleaned it up and put it back to work as an inn.”



“Because Lily was an adulteress, the townspeople wouldn’t allow her to be buried in the town cemetery. And no one knew how to get in touch with her lover’s next of kin; all they had was a name in the guest register. Agnes, bless her heart, had them buried together on her property south of town. Lily and her husband didn’t have any children, and Agnes never married. Further, Agnes passed on about twenty years ago, so there are no descendents. Agnes’ house is no longer there; it’s an empty lot, except for the two headstones of Lily and her lover.”



So much comes together now. Her old style clothes. Seeing “many people come and go”. Her feeling that she belonged here. The book she said she’d read a thousand times; perhaps she had. And it having been so long since… well…



But I still couldn’t figure how I fit in; how she knew my name; how much of this is reality. As I was leaving, I glanced into the sitting room. Her book was on the table, as she’d left it the night before.



Driving down the highway toward L.A. I noticed a fenced-in lot overgrown with weeds. I could barely make out the tops of two markers in the corner when the weeds bowed down with the wind. I felt compelled. I stopped the car. I reached for the ribbon in my pocket and once more contemplated the blood stain. I walked through the broken gate and approached the graves. Lily’s was on the left. By the dates on her stone, she was only 24 years old when her life was taken away so tragically.



Now I have always accepted the possibility that there may be a few still walking among us who should have left this world and moved on to the next. But I have never questioned my own place in this world, until this moment. I also understand just how it is that Lily knows me. For the stone on the right bears my own name.

Categories
August 2017
M T W T F S S
« Feb    
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
28293031  
Categories