Posts Tagged ‘encounter’

Margaret Kinshern was enjoying her fantasy. What woman doesn’t enjoy a fantasy every once in a while? Especially a woman with nothing to do and all day to do it. The fantasy she was enjoying at the moment was similar in its basic theme to many of the dreams she had been having lately, not real life, just fantasy. Her dreams, fantasies, concerned degraded, sexually out-of-control woman. Margaret was a bit worried about her fantasy. It concerned itself with a woman who had put herself at the mercy of a man, but at least the woman in her present fantasy was not Margaret herself. She might have had a problem with that, there were a few of Margaret’s intimates who did have a problem with her relationships. Fortunately, her ongoing fantasy was about someone else, a 28-year-old, pretty, recently married college instructor, not Margaret, not Margaret.:


She was walking out of the mall. The man was walking into the mall

Maybe it was unintentional on her part, she couldn’t say for sure, but they made eye contact, Perhaps it was in response to the eye contact, maybe not, but as soon as they made eye contact, he took three long strides, reached where she was and stood right in front of her. This was all happening in broad daylight. There were plenty of people around. She didn’t have to respond to him. She could have ignored him, just walked away. But she didn’t. She didn’t know why. Up to that moment, there was nothing overtly offensive in his behavior. Again, their eyes met. He moved a step closer, so that she could not ignore the fact that he was invading her space. Less than a foot of space separated them.

“Where you goin?” he demanded. Didn’t ask, demanded.

She just looked at him. It wasn’t that she was shocked. It was because she did not know what to say that she didn’t answer. He was big. He looked to be strong. She was frightened, not because of him, but because she didn’t know why she couldn’t say anything or do anything.

“Didn’t you hear what I asked you?” he said. He was staring at her. His lips were formed into a sneer.

Who was this man? She didn’t know him. To her best knowledge, she had never seen him before, but, when the man told her to follow him, she did. She walked behind him deep into the crowded mall parking lot. They were separated for a moment when he crossed a car pathway and she had to wait for a short group of cars and vans passing between them. When the cars passed, she crossed the street, moving as quickly as possible on her high heels and caught up to him just as he stopped next to his car.

She stood there, breathing hard from the exertion she had expended to keep up with him.

“Get in the car,” he said. He indicated she move to the passenger side and open the door by herself. “I wants to ask you something.”

His language demonstrated a lack of education, his clothing nondescript and personal hygiene slovenly. She stood where she had been standing, close to the rear bumper of the driver’s side. Why was she standing there? She should just walk away. His car was like him, not impressive at all. It was a sedan. Rust showed in places as did scratches along its paint. The car had not been washed in a long while. She should just walk away. But she didn’t. She just stood there.

“Didn’t I tell you to get in?” he said.

She moved quickly to open the car’s passenger side door and got in.

He entered the car on the driver’s side.

She suddenly began to cry. She didn’t know why.

“Stop that crying,” he commanded.

She was unable to stop sobbing, this woman in Margaret’s fantasy.

“I told you to quit that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice pleaded for his sympathy. They were the first words she had spoken to him.

He looked at her. His look was contemptuous. His lips were curled into a sneer. He leaned over and put his lips hard against hers and began to kiss her. He forced his tongue into her mouth. She felt his tongue moving against her tongue. She tried to resist, but instead found herself responding, swirling her tongue against his, desperate to taste the tobacco flavor of his invading wetness. They remained like that, kissing, until, it seemed like minutes later, he stopped it. He lit a cigarette.

He started the engine. “We’re going to my place,” he told her.

“Please,” she said. She didn’t know what she meant by the word, please, no, or please, yes. She knew only that she was unable to resist him. She didn’t know why. The car had not yet begun to move although its motor continued to run. He put his hand on her knee, the knee furthest from him, and pushed, separating her legs. She felt a new coolness invade between her legs. His hand moved up her thigh from her knee slowly, caressing her smooth skin, stopping only when his hand reached the joining of her leg with her torso. His hand did not move to touch her mound, but she felt it brush against her panties push at the puff of pussy hair there.

“Please,” she whispered. She didn’t know what she meant by the word she had whispered, please stop or please go on.

“Shut up,” he replied. He extended one finger past the elastic edging the gusset of her panty and stroked her labia. “Shut up. Just shut up and be quiet,” he said. I am going to take you to my place and I am going to fuck you silly. So, shut up.”

He began to drive.

She remained sobbing, though she still had not said a word other than the word please.

The car left the mall’s parking lot and entered the flow of traffic, heading South on the crowded street.

Cara Orbison (that is the name of the woman in Margaret’s fantasy) felt now something that both frightened and excited her, she felt a heavy wetness begin to flow deep within her cunt. She could not stop the flow just as she could not stop her sobbing.

“You know how to suck cock?” the driver asked. He made a right turn. They were in a residential neighborhood. The houses here seemed neat single family dwellings, crowded close to each other. “I asked you something.” His voice was angry.

“I…I…” was all she was able to say. She had forgotten the question to which she was supposed to respond.

“You suck cock,” he repeated.

She nodded her head yes and continued to sob. She had been married six years and had sucked her husband, Joseph’s, cock eleven times in those six years.

“You fucking sick, you know, coming here with me.”

She looked straight ahead and nodded her head, the nod indicating that maybe she was agreeing with his statement. Certainly, she could think of no rational reason for being in his car.

“Ya know, what you are doin’ is nuts.”

She once again nodded her head. This time the nod left no room for disagreement. Her sobbing had stopped. Her head remained down as she glanced over at the driver.

“You so hard up for a good fuck that you would take a chance like this? With a guy like me? You really need to be fucked so bad?”

Cara leaned towards the driver, grabbed his thigh with her hand and pushed him against his window. She had no answer to his question, but she mumbled, “I need something. I don’t even know why I need it. I don’t even know what I need. But I know that it will come from you.” He took her hand from his thigh and pushed it against his cock.

She felt his tumescent instrument. It was large and firm. “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her voice low.

“Girl, I am going to see that you are fucked good”

She swallowed. All this while, she had been unable to stop crying. She could not stop her tears from running down from her eyes and ruining her carefully applied make up. “I, I don’t know what I want. I don’t know that I want that, what you just said. Maybe you should take me back to the mall.”

“You think so,” he said. “After you got me so hard and came all the way here with me. You want to go back? It ain’t gonna happen.” He unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car. He stood next to his door, but didn’t say anything or gesture even to indicate to her what she ought to do. After a moment or two, she unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car. She stood in one place until he walked over to her and took her hand in his. She had not quit crying. “I live on the second floor,” he said.

She walked with him to the door of the building. “Are there going to be any other of your friends there?” she whispered. He could barely hear what she had whispered. She had barely heard it. She wet her lips with her tongue.

“Whoooeee,” he said, “You are a lot weirder than I thought.” He looked at her as they stood at the bottom of the stairwell which led to his second floor apartment. “You wondering if I am gonna have friends up stairs? You is even a bigger slut than I thought.”

She said nothing, just looked down at her feet. She imagined the room upstairs, she in it surrounded by his friends, some naked, some with only their pants off, their shirts still on, a few with the cocks hanging out past their unzipped flies. Cocks. She saw herself surrounded by those big, fat, heavy, full of cum cocks. A lot of cocks.

He led her to the stairs. One of his hands snaked up under her skirt, pushing the skirt all the way up so that the top of her thighs were now uncovered, exposed to his view and to his touch. A finger sneaked its way into her wet cunt. “Yeah,” he said, “You want, I’ll have some friends over.” He cupped her ass cheeks with his hands and squeezed. “You been ass fucked?”

She hardly heard his question, she was breathing so loudly. Her mouth was open, her chest was heaving as they entered the door to his apartment.

She did not even have an opportunity to see what the apartment looked like, just smell the strong odor of tobacco that filled the room before he trapped her against the door. He pushed his body against hers. He began to undress her. He was methodical, unbuttoning her blouse, unhooking her brassier, loosening her skirt belt. He pulled the skirt down until his fingers engaged her panties and then pulled both her skirt and panties down, one atop the other, at the same time, letting them pool, spread open on the floor around her ankles. She could smell the musk from her panties even as she stood up. Her bra hung from her shoulder, her blouse from the same shoulder, one breast uncovered, the other breast half covered. His hands were touching her all over. Her nipples were taut. The palm of his hand pressed hard against the hairy bush of her cunt.

“No,” she breathed.

No, what?”

“No, I’ve never had a cock in my ass,” Cara Orbison said.


Margaret Kimshaw saw the details of her fantasy scene vividly, clearly, in color. Every sound, every breath, every groan was loud enough to ring in her ear as if she was hearing it in stereo in a movie theatre. But then her phone rang. It was her summons.

It was time to go.

No more fantasy for Margaret Kimshaw.

She was leaving her home. She was going out into the real world. The fantasy had helped her to get her juices flowing. She didn’t bother to speculate anymore, though, about whatever would happen to poor, so sad, unhappy little Cara Orbison She knew that she, Margaret Kimshaw, she wouldn’t sob, wouldn’t cry. Not her. She went to her door to leave, to answer the summons the phone had messaged. The call had been from Anthony. It wouldn’t be wise for her to be late.

Stanley Montrieth III rushed into my office, “Oh my God, I did it. I actually did it. I shagged all these beauties in a pool on my own desert island!”

His curly, ginger hair was more unruly than usual and his face was flushed with excitement and exhilaration.

I knew, he’d been working on something exciting and it looked like he was ready to tell me at long last.

We’d been friends forever. Stanley was … well Stanley, an eccentric, mad scientist type. He had more money than was wise, and, was able to indulge some of his outlandish but brilliant ideas.

I couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm, even though, I had no idea what he was spouting on about.

“Ok. Explain.” I put my pen down, grinning back at him. Sex always grabbed my attention!

Stanley began his excited chatter and told me about his special wrist watch, “…and it has amazing dials, and, it transports you in time to other worlds, other dimensions, and, to places where your own erotic fantasies can come to life, to indulge and be indulged.”

He showed me this watch and fiddled with a few dials and slapped it on my wrist and suddenly, he was gone, his voice a distant echo!

I seemed to be floating and rushing somewhere fast. I heard whisperings of what sounded like, “Tick Tock; Tick Tock; Tick Tock” whooshing in my ears.

I could breathe and feel but things were rushing passed my eyes too quickly to make any sense and there were amazing colours of blue and white and red and yellow and pink and green and, then there was blackness …

I felt as if I had been in a deep sleep for a while. I opened my eyes and found I was kneeling on a wooden floor against a large, luxurious four poster bed.

My wrists were bound tight in front of me, anchored to a post by the headrest. I tested the bindings but was unable to undo them. The rope was fairly long and I sat on the bed taking in my surroundings, trying to make sense of it all.

It seemed to be a luxurious cabin, oak paneled with small leaded arch windows, an oak desk with a lamp, a log book of some kind, open, with an ink pot and quill. There was a wooden carved chair by the desk & another matching one that has a long black felt coat thrown on to it. It had shiny gold buttons and striped gold and black epaulettes on the shoulders.

I looked down at myself, my dress had changed too. I was now in a black short lacy negligee of sheer, light material with spaghetti straps on the shoulder, the front dipped down in a slight v, covering the matching little panties I was wearing. It certainly didn’t seem to leave much to the imagination!

I stood and tested the rope and was able to stretch its length a little. I moved out from the bed and peaked out of one of the nearby arch windows. The view was beautiful and hinted of a different world, a different time.

The sky was orange and yellow as the sun was setting, with the biggest moon reflecting over still calm waters and a smaller baby moon in front of it.

In the distance I saw lands and islands but they were just too far away to make out what they were.

It appeared the ship, if indeed a ship I was on, was anchored and stationary, possibly in a harbour or basin of some sort.

“Where is this place?” I wondered and looked at my bound wrists, “and what had I gotten myself into?”

A thought suddenly sprung to mind, “Had I quantum leaped here through time and space somehow?”

I moved back and lay on the bed trying to make sense of it all and eventually my eyes started to droop.

I must have fallen asleep again, for next, I was suddenly aware of being lifted and my arms being stretched out before me.

I opened my eyes to find I was knelt in the middle of the bed. The rope that bound both my wrists together had stretched my arms up at a 45 degree angle in front of a large mirror. Behind me was the most stunning and handsome man I had ever seen.

He was dark haired and tanned with an air of authority. His chest was naked and toned, with trained, hard muscles and a sprinkling of hair. He was wearing black tight trousers with a silver buckle and boots. “A handsome pirate, maybe,” were my first thoughts.

He gripped my hair and pulled my head back, meeting my eyes in the mirror. I saw fire and lust and a rawness that caught my breath before he tied a gag to my mouth, preventing me from voicing my burning questions.

My heart was racing and I watched him like a hawk trying to gauge what he had in mind and the mood he was in.

He spoke into my ear, his voice deep and soft. He nuzzled me, teased my senses, playing on the unknown quantity of my situation. His gentle breath was purposefully sensuous. It worked. My body responded and he knew it.

My breasts became swollen and my nipples pebbled into points. A warm flush invaded my sex causing my panties to dampen as my juices seeped into the material. My breath quickened and my heart raced.

“You seem to be an unexpected guest on my ship. Luckily my crew saw your potential for their Captain and bought you here for me. I have work to do first but, I can admire you from my desk”

He stared at me in the mirror locking on to my eyes and then he moved his hands to my breasts, cupping and kneading them.

“I can see you like that,” he whispered, and moved one hand between my kneeling legs spreading my thighs apart. He brushed at my panties before sliding a finger inside, testing my excitement and finger fucked gently. I groaned as my body ignited and gushed with appreciation.

He removed his finger, took it to his nostrils, breathed in deeply of my scent before licking and tasting his finger, smiling.

He looked at me bound there and looked pleased at how I displayed on the bed.

Then, he looked again, taking a moment to ponder and moved his hands to my neckline at the front and tugged down hard, ripping my negligee so it hung in tatters by my shoulder and waist. My breasts spilled out to his gaze.

“Better,” he murmured as he moved to his desk to work.

I pulled on the wrist rope but I was bound fast.

I thought of the Captain’s words, “…his crew found me…”

It must have been in my blackness after all those colours, and they must have bought me here and bound my wrists.

I looked at the Captain, through the mirror, working at his desk, busily writing in his log book. He had a stubborn curl in the middle of his forehead that seemed to refuse to be trained back. He was very handsome, with his rugged, chiselled features and green knowledgeable eyes.

Every now and then, he looked at me, lifting his finger with my scent on, to his nose, breathed in deeply, and tasted a little with his tongue. The flicking, licking action mesmerised me, teased my mind to erotic thoughts.

He finished what he was doing and leaned back in his chair eyeing me slowly, drinking in my slim, toned frame, my rounded breasts, free and loose to his gaze, my slim waist and womanly hips. My secrets barely covered by my sheer, see through attire, torn to my waist.

I blushed a little at his intense inspection and for the obvious excitement that built in the pit of my stomach. I wanted this man, I found him attractive and he knew it.

He smiled and moved to the bed, kneeling behind me. He forced my knees and feet further apart so his groin was against my bottom. My senses were on high alert. His hands began to explore my body. He kneaded my waist, my stomach, and he kissed my neck to my ear.

“Watch me,” he demanded, “Watch me enjoy you in the mirror”

His breath and tongue teased me, igniting my needs as a woman. He stroked my arms suggestively in front of me. He trailed his fingers from my bound, uplifted wrists, down to my shoulders, then down my sides to my outer thighs.

He slowly inched upwards, teasing and assessing my reaction. My body was on fire, a warm glow of sexual attraction flushed my skin. His actions caused the negligee to tease and graze sexily against my skin.

He cupped my breasts and a groan escaped my lips behind the gag. He pulled me into him tight, my back against his chest. His chest hairs brushed my soft skin and he kneaded and fondled more, slightly harder, slightly more urgent.

He enjoyed the reaction he was causing. Then his body bent forward a little and he placed his hands at my knees on the bed and began to drag them up my inner thighs, until he fanned either side my pussy, causing my negligee to rise with him. The material teased my sensitive skin again and revealed more of my body to his gaze.

His outer thumbs reached the crease of my thighs and he rested there a moment before massaging a little. The movements caused my panties to move tantalizingly over my inflamed womanhood. I ached and throbbed now for his attention.

I groaned in need and want. My eyes begged him for more in the mirror. He continued to kiss, nibble and lick my neck, my shoulders and my ears. He was driving me wild and feeding that need, a strong powerful need that intensified with each and every kiss and with each, and every fondle.

My panties were wet, soaked with feminine desire.

He produced some scissors and cut one side of the thin lacy string of the panties on my hip, causing it to fall and hang on the opposite leg. My red trimmed tuft revealed, my intimate lips were wet and oozed my interest in him. I was swollen, aching and throbbing with want.

He cut the remaining string and used the panties to wipe the juices from my pussy. I moaned and gyrated my hips at his touch. He indulged me for a moment and let me grind into his hand and my panties. My juices flowed freely, generously covering all of his hand and wetting my panties.

Using the same coated hand, he untied my gag, only to rub his thumb along my lips. I could smell and taste my arousal on him. He caressed and fondled the outside of my mouth with his thumb. He watched intently. He used his glazed thumb to slowly spread the juices , like lipstick, across my lips. He slid it inside my mouth, then out again and back in and on my tongue. It was the most sensual thing and I found myself holding my breath.

Then he kissed me deeply, exploring my mouth and tasting me there, and I remembered to breathe again in little pants.

As he pulled away from the kiss, he slowly pushed my panties into my mouth so half were inside, resting on my tongue, the other half hanging on my lower lip and chin.

He moved away to put the scissors on his desk, and then inspected his work, walking around the bed.

He saw a sexually aroused female tied kneeling to his bed; arms out stretched in her binding; her breasts and hardened nipples hanging free; slightly reddened by his kneading and squeezing; her negligee hanging torn from her trim waist; nude from the waist down; her naked pussy, wet and hot from his expert teasing and her sodden panties hanging from her mouth. He smiled, pleased with the image before him.

He moved to the bed and took some pillows. He positioned them, just in front of my knees. Then he tunneled between them, his head, face up. His hair teased my inner thighs as he passed through, slowly, purposefully building my sexual tension. His journey ended next to my pussy.

His head rested on the pillows to ensure his comfort. He lay on his back looking up at me intimately and his breath teased my heated core.

He grabbed and kneaded my butt cheeks and then pulled my ass and my pussy towards his lips and tongue. He nuzzled and breathed in deeply, taking in my womanly scent of arousal.

He stilled and blew a little, to heighten my anticipation of what he was about to do. His breath rippled across my sex, ruffling and parting my short pubic curls.

I groaned and flooded with raw desire, lusting after him, as surely was, his very intention.

Then he licked me, and fed off me. He sucked in my labia, exploring my furrows with his tongue, kissing me in the most intimate of ways.

I gave myself to him, groaning, losing my control, and greedily wanting him.

I watched him in the mirror as he lapped me, turning me on even more, hardly recognizing the wanton creature that reflected back. The erotic sight of him between my legs was a powerful aphrodisiac.

He explored every crevice and every crease. He tasted, licked, sucked and softly nibbled at my sex. I circled my hips and ground into his face. He growled in satisfaction as my body openly responded to him.

I pushed harder as I felt his tongue on me, tasting my pleasure. His hands moved to open my lips to look inside me and he licked at the pink inner flesh. Then, he pressed his face into my vagina and began to tongue fuck. The feel of his hot tongue inside drove me to distraction and I began to whimper and grind my teeth on the panties in my mouth.

His thumb teased and circled my clitoris and I felt my orgasm building. His lips moved to my swollen bud and he flicked and circled it with his tongue.

He inserted two fingers into my pussy and fucked me slowly at first, then faster.

His other hand, fingers coated in my juices, teased my bottom and he probed, then penetrated into that special place.

He finger fucked my pussy, my bottom and sucked and licked my clitoris as I continued to watch him in the mirror, mesmerised. The sight of him there, between my legs was breath taking and exciting. The sensations on my body drove me crazy, building that primitive lust.

It was all too much to resist. My breath quickened, my body tensed and my release was sudden and powerful.

I shuddered throughout my body, groaned loudly, muffled by my panties still in my mouth.

I shook and trembled as wave after wave of ultimate pleasure enveloped me. My juices flooded and he drank the essence from my heated and sensitive core. He demanded, wanted, every last drop of my excitement.

My body jerked and spasmed over him, lost in the moment of ultimate pleasure. It drained me of strength, filled me with the wonder and glow of it all. And then eventually it subsided and I was left trembling and breathing deeply.

He kissed me there one last time, still feeling my tremors, and he moved from underneath me.

He lowered my arms, still bound and out stretched, on to the bed. My face lay sideways on the soft sheet, my bottom was in the air, presented to him.

He walked round behind me and massaged my bottom cheeks. He spread them to view my secrets. I felt him drizzle a little oil as he played with my inner valley and pussy. He pushed his fingers into both channels, filling me, feeling my walls, preparing me for his needs.

He moved to my head, and unbuckled his belt as I watched. He pushed his trousers down, releasing his impressive erection. It was big, hard and as beautiful as him.

He lifted my head by the hair. I rose up, eager to taste him and he pulled the panties out of my mouth slowly.

He placed my panties in to his own mouth and prodded them in place with his finger. He tasted me on them and my scent wafted up to his nostrils.

Then, he pushed his cock in my mouth and began fucking my head slowly.

We both groaned in pleasure as my tongue licked and tasted his hardness and the seeping precum on his crown.

He stilled my head and then ground and rolled round my mouth, exploring me with his shaft.

My tongue traced the ridges of his crown and I caved in my cheeks as I sucked on him. He fucked a little more, his fingers still gripping my hair, before pulling my head away, and lowering me back to the bed as before.

He moved behind me and I felt, his ardour as he pushed into my pussy in one thrust. He gripped my hips and guided the rhythm to his liking. This was his turn now, for his pleasure and not mine. He drove hard, fast and furious.

My tight walls spread along his shaft as he pushed to my cervix, making me gasp and moan in ecstasy at his possession.

He pushed in. He pulled out, and faster he fucked, growling and animalistic in his actions.

My panties still hung from his mouth, and then, just as suddenly, he stopped, breathing hard as he fought for control.

He reveled in the feel of my pussy on him, tightly fitting him, like a glove.

He withdrew, and then began again, this time claiming my bottom.

He pushed in and stretched me till his full length was buried in my body. He enjoyed the moment and then, let the raw need take him.

He fucked hard and fast again, his fingers gripped my hips, biting in to my flesh as his rhythm became more frantic.

He reached over me, gripped my hair with one hand, pulling me up to gain a deeper depth. The other gripped my shoulder and pulled me back. He fucked harder. Primal lust filled his mind and body.

My body rejoiced and was wanton at his claiming of me. Then as he started to reach his peak, he bent over me and palmed my breasts, groping and squeezing me.

My panties fell from his mouth and rested on my shoulder.

His teeth found my neck and clamped down, biting and marking me in his animal rawness.

My panties shifted and fell from my shoulder to the bed. In my excited state, the pain of the bite was dulled at my neck. I felt him stiffen in his release.

His seed rushed my anal channel. The breath from his nostrils was exhilarating and empowering on my neck. He growled and shuddered and trembled as his powerful orgasm rocked his body.

He eventually released my neck still growling, his marking and claiming complete.

We stilled in the moment and enjoyed the wild raw moments that had passed between us. We enjoyed the satisfied afterglow that surrounded and clouded us.

Our harsh breathing and racing hearts started to slow down and return to normal. Our bodies hummed and calmed after such fulfillment.

He withdrew from me and moved to his desk, picking something up before returning to me.

He untied my wrists and placed the dialed watch on me.

He turned some dials and whispered in my ear, “Come back to me soon”

And then I was in the tunnel of colours and the whooshing “Tick Tock; Tick Tock; Tick Tock”… sound.

In next to no time, or so it seemed, Stanley was stood in front of me grinning. My clothes were back to normal and I was sat at my desk as before..

“Well,” He asked, “Did you meet him? He came to find me you know, at the pool, he told me to get you for him.”

I look at him confused, “What?” I leaned forward, placing my arms on the desk top.

My eyes were suddenly diverted by the red bind marks on my wrists and then as my gaze returned to Stanley, they passed over a mirrored photo frame on my desk, and I saw the bite mark on my neck.

“The Captain, He’s been looking for you!”…


Part of the ‘Butt Monkey’ series of stories by Robert Furlong


As I was getting into bed, Guy returned to the room chuckling that the lads had still been on their DS, which he’d confiscated. “I know they’re getting a bit old to have their toys taken off them, but they’re gonna need to get some sleep if they want to enjoy the match tomorrow.”

Knowing Jake, I was quite sure he was already finding other things to keep him and his friend occupied. My son always went to bed very much on his own terms.

Guy put the games console down onto the drawers and started hitching his jeans back down. His cock, I noticed, was now mainly flaccid inside his briefs but the wet patch it had made when it had been stiff and leaking was still dark and sodden.

He looked over at me checking out his bulge and hitched the waistband up a little to show it off more prominently.

“Reached a verdict?” he asked casually, as if he was asking if I’d decided what time to set the alarm. Considering we’d been discussing trading sexual favours, his tone seemed remarkably inappropriate.

I pulled the duvet over me and smiled at him. “Yeah. I’m gonna back out, actually. Let’s just put what we talked about down to the strength of the whisky…”

He pulled his jeans off and tossed them to one side. He smiled over at me without a trace of rejection or disappointment. “Fair enough, mate. No worries.”

He walked into the bathroom and stood, side-on to me, in front of the toilet bowl. He pulled his cock out from his underwear and directed down towards the water. It was still quite large and the purple head was protruding from his foreskin as a result of his earlier erection. He started pissing — a thick yellow jet of liquid — and called over to me, “I might have to beat off before I can sleep. Would that be okay with you?”

The question only surprised me in its directness. He was so sexually tense I had assumed he would need some kind of release. I’d just hoped he would be able to wait until he’d returned home so that I wouldn’t have to listen to him.

“Yes, of course. Just close the bathroom door so I can get some sleep.”

He laughed, still directing the powerful stream from his organ into the water of the toilet bowl. “I mean in bed. Who’s ever heard of wanking standing up?”

“Don’t you ever do it in the shower?”

He looked over at me. “No. I have to be lying down. Do you mind if I do it in bed?”

“I need to sleep. How long will it take?”

His jet of piss subsided into a trickle and he squirted the last few spurts into the toilet. He shook his cock and I noticed that it had begun to lengthen and thicken again at the prospect of being masturbated by its owner. The head was looking redder as it swelled and fattened.

“I dunno,” he muttered. “I’m not a big fan of it, like I said, so it can take a while. And without any porn…”

He tucked himself back into his underwear and walked over to the sink. Then he went on, as he squirted toothpaste onto his brush, “I managed to do it on the rig a few times without disturbing three sleeping men, so I can be pretty quiet about it.”

“Okay,” I agreed. I couldn’t see that I had much choice in the matter. Did men often have these kinds of conversations when they had to share a bedroom? I’d shared with a friend of mine, Adam, the night before my wedding. I didn’t remember having to discuss his masturbatory requirements after we’d drunkenly staggered back from the bar.

He brushed his teeth hurriedly and I clicked my bedside lamp off to show that I was hoping to be able to go to sleep quite imminently.

Having finished in the bathroom, he switched off the light and walked over to his bed. He directed his own bedside light away from my side of the room making it gloomy enough for me to close my eyes and at least hope to be able to sleep while he attended to himself.

He said, “Sorry I need to do this, but I got so horny earlier talking about stuff which really shouldn’t made me that horny. I think I must need to empty my nuts.”

I turned away from him to give him what little privacy I could, and said, flatly, “Goodnight, Guy.”

He said, “Goodnight, Rob,” and his mattress squeaked as he climbed into his own bed.

I must admit that his sounds of self-stimulation were very discreet and well-concealed. Indeed, if he had not announced what he was about to do, I might have been blissfully unaware of the activity going on underneath his duvet and managed to nod off. As it was, though, the knowledge that another man was lying in the same room as me pleasuring himself made me listen out for any sounds he might make; it was that, more than any actual sounds, which ended up keeping me awake.

At first, I was waiting impatiently for the tell-tale gasp of his orgasm, which would let me know that he’d finished so I could finally go to sleep. I reflected that this must have been how my ex-wife had felt while she’d waited for me to ‘expel my seed’, as she’d so affectionately put it, as I’d lain in bed next to her tending to the erection I almost invariably developed at bedtime.

Early on in our marriage Linda had seemed to accept that regular sex was necessary for me and had allowed me to have intercourse every night before we slept on the proviso that I would attend to my morning erections while I was showering. But after a while she’d said that such ‘nightly rutting’ was making her too sore, so she’d agreed to beat me off instead. The first few times she had seemed quite keen on the new arrangement and had worked on me with gusto, using different techniques on my cock to bring me to my much-needed climax. But soon her enthusiasm had waned and she began complaining that she needed to sleep and that she couldn’t see why my balls needed to be ‘emptied so regularly’. So she’d ended up lying there each night with her back to me, making her displeasure clear, while I’d tried to masturbate as quickly and quietly as I could, feeling embarrassed that my male physiology had given me such an apparently unreasonable sexual appetite. Pretty soon I’d been relegated to the bathroom, and had ended up spending most nights squatting on the tiled floor with my pyjama bottoms around my ankles discharging the day’s pent-up semen over a couple of girlie magazines I kept behind the bath panel.

Now, as I lay there in the semi-gloom of my side of the room, I felt a modicum of sympathy towards Linda when she’d been a similar position but I also recognised that Guy had needs like my own and that I had to show more patience towards what his biology was forcing him to do than my ex-wife had towards me.

And so I didn’t make sighs and grunts of exasperation to hurry him along, as Linda had in my position, but rather lay there listening to him, focussing with mild interest on the sounds he was making as he tugged his foreskin back and forth underneath his duvet. There was a steady rhythm — gentle and almost indiscernible from the beating of my own pulse in my ears — but easily recognisable to me, having made similarly discreet sounds in my own bed on many an occasion so as not to disturb Jake, sleeping in his room. Then there was his breathing, growing steadily faster and shallower as his rhythm quickened and his pleasure intensified. His mattress, too, would occasionally betray him with a few expressive creaks, perhaps when his elbow inadvertently rubbed against it or his hips give a few involuntary thrusts.

As I listened to him rubbing himself, his rhythm gradually intensifying and his breathing gradually quickening into short pants, I felt my own cock starting to lengthen and became aware that these private, sexual sounds from another man were beginning to excite me.

I rolled over onto my back and glanced over at Guy.

Aware that I wasn’t asleep and that he had no need to be quiet about what he was doing, he began beating his cock more powerfully, allowing his fist to make a recurring thumping sound against the duvet every time it reached the top of his cock. In time with this was a wet clicking sound like somebody chewing gum. I realised it must be his foreskin making moist smacking noises every time it swept across the head of his cock, wettened by the ooze of liquid weeping from the slit.

My cock continued to stiffen through the fly of my boxer shorts as I heard a second rhythm to Guy’s exertions: a rapid slapping sound which could have been his wrist beating against his hip or — and the idea of this made me reach down and wrap my fingers around my own stiffening member — his large pair of nuts thumping against his thighs.

Guy must have noticed the mound of my hand, touching myself beneath the duvet, because he called out, breathlessly, “Yeah! Come on, mate — wank with me!”

My inhibitions lowered by the whisky, I acceded to Guy’s command and started to beat myself under the duvet, my wrist making a gentle beating noise against it in time with Guy’s more powerful rhythm.

He called out again, “Yeah! Go for it!” and then I saw him push his duvet away right off his bed so that he could stroke himself in the open air.

With his bedside light directed onto the wall next to him, I saw Guy’s outline mostly in silhouette. His body was tense and his chest was heaving. His wrist swept up and down the length of his large, curving cock in a fast, rhythmic motion. The head of it was fat and engorged and the wet clicking noises made by his foreskin against its sticky surface sounded louder and clearer. His balls protruded upwards in a slightly odd way: I then realised he’d tucked the waistband of his briefs underneath them when he’d started masturbating.

I could smell it quite distinctly: the sharp, musky tang wafting from his oozing cock-head as his foreskin swept back and forth across it and the thicker, more acrid, odour from his balls. It was an unmistakably sexual scent, heavy with sweat and testosterone: the unrefined smell of male masturbation.

I found it surprisingly arousing and inhaled it deeply as I lay stroking myself. It was a powerfully masculine odour and yet it was strangely exciting to me. I increased my rhythm on my cock, pumping myself more quickly and more firmly as I sniffed at the sharp bite of Guy’s cock in the air.

He turned to look at me and called out, between gasping breaths, “Push your bedding off! Show me it!”

At first I was reluctant to do so, but my excitement overcame me and after a minute or so I revealed myself to him. Pushing my duvet away, I let him see me jerking my cock through the fly of my boxers in the half-light on my side of the room.

He peered over at me in obvious surprise. He must have assumed my reluctance to flash myself at him at every occasion, as he had with me, arose from my shortcomings in the trouser department.

The fact is, though, that I am very well-endowed, both in terms of the length and girth of my penis and the distended size of my testicles; so much so that I’ve always been self-conscious about exposing myself. My mother had told me when I was growing up that large genitals were something to be ashamed of and so for many years I had tried to hide my size and had felt awkward when I was circumstances dictated that I had to be naked among other people. It was bad enough to have been an early developer and to put up with my classmates’ staring between my legs in the school showers in fascination each week watching my testicles grow steadily to the size of plums and my scrotum sprout a forest of dark, wiry hair while their pea-sized equivalents remained practically hairless. For a while my nickname became ‘Furballs’ — a crude corruption of my surname ‘Furlong’ — much to my discomfort. But once my development had really taken off a year or so later, it was mortifying to have them point and giggle at my lengthening penis which looked more and more like an elephant’s trunk hanging between my legs during each weekly shower while theirs barely made a bump in their underwear. Within a short time my name had been further corrupted into ‘Footlong’, a jibe which had me blushing and hiding my face whether it be hurled at me on the sports pitch or across the maths classroom.

These days, while I wasn’t so embarrassed of being well-built and knew that many people appreciated a large manhood, the hangover of shame from my youth still made me very reticent about revealing my genitals to anyone, both male and female.

Guy laughed and called out, still beating himself, “You’re a dark horse, aren’t you, Rob? You hid that pretty well!”

His reaction gave me confidence and I smiled back at him.

He went on, “It’s always the quiet ones who have pythons stuffed down their trousers!”

I’d never had it called a python and I liked the analogy. I changed position slightly so that he could better see it, and more fully admire its length and thickness. I hoped, too, that he might enjoy the distinctive odour of my cock as I masturbated it just as I was appreciating the strongly male scent that his was exuding.

He sniffed a couple of times, though whether it was to savour the waft of pheromones from my cock as I stroked it or whether he was becoming breathless from his own exertions, I don’t know.

I, for one, was relishing the intensifying stink that was gathering in the room. I’d always enjoyed the strongly sexual smell of my own masturbation and now, with two of us in the room exposing our erections and rubbing them vigorously together, our collective odour was twice as intoxicating. I could feel the thickened shaft of mine hardening to full stiffness, lengthening to its full enormity, in the building excitement I was experiencing.

My only concern — and it was a very distant one — was that one of our sons might, for whatever reason, come tapping at our door. The sharp reek of our cocks would make it unmistakable to another male what the two of us had been doing: I would hate for Jake or Simon to wince at their dads’ masturbatory stink; to grimace, knowing that the cloying odour in our room came from two men who had been pleasuring themselves together.

Nevertheless, we lay like that for a minute or so, enjoying our communal masturbation with an almost fraternal intimacy: watching each other’s hands stroking up and down, and enjoying the sensation of being watched.

I was intrigued by the way that Guy’s technique differed from my own. He was stroking himself using two fingers and a thumb on his organ; I had my whole hand wrapped around my organ. He kept his legs closed pushing his scrotum upwards between his thighs; I kept my legs widely apart and let my much larger balls settle between them, gently slapping against my thighs with the rhythm of my hand. His cock sounded wet and sticky as he wanked it and the ooze from its head lubricated the sweepings of foreskin; mine was much drier and I needed to lick my fingers occasionally to moisten the head.

Aside from those few differences, however, our techniques were largely similar and our rhythms well-matched. Guy stared at my cock and I stared at his as we did exactly the thing Guy had told our sons not to do a couple of hours earlier.

Abruptly, Guy leapt up from his bed and came over to mine. He stood next to my bed while I, still stroking myself, stared up at his manhood standing upright next to me. A string of clear sticky liquid dribbled from the end of it onto my pillow. The smell from his cock, his balls and perhaps his underpants too was mouth-wateringly strong.

“Suck it,” he commanded.

“I dunno, Guy.” I was enjoying masturbating with him and finding it surprisingly arousing, but –

“Suck it. Please,” he implored.

He reached down for my cock and pushed my hand away from it. He grabbed it quite roughly in his fist and started hurriedly jerking my foreskin back and forth. In spite of his uncouth technique, it felt good to have another person’s hand on my cock after so much time. I gasped my appreciation.

“I’ll wank you off as long as you like…” he pleaded. “I’ll do anything with it… just suck me. Please. I need it.”

I looked at his cock, still pounding with anticipation and dribbling clear fluid onto my pillow and, pained by his desperation, I nodded.

He grabbed it with his free hand and directed it downwards towards my face. In spite of its hardness he forced it down at such an angle that I was sure it must hurt him, but he was so eager to get it into my mouth that he must have been oblivious to the discomfort.

I leaned up from my pillow and tentatively licked the sticky, swollen head of it. The taste was unremarkable — salty, a little bitter — but I was almost overwhelmed by his powerful odour. It was so much stronger than the scent which had wafted over to me when he had been masturbating — it made that almost pale into insignificance.

His smell up close was somewhere between the rank odour of sweat and the sharp stench of piss, but with more to it than that: a stronger, sexual aroma from his pores, reeking of musk and testosterone. In spite of how cloyingly intense it was — and how potently masculine — I found it captivating and what I had thought would be a few reticent licks of his cock-head quickly intensified into a full-on fury of slurping and gagging as I took as much of his engorged organ into my eager, gasping mouth.

He pulled away from me, his cock springing upright again. “Steady on, mate. You’ll bring me off!”

I looked up at him, for the first time feeling lust towards another man.

“Let’s do this properly,” I said. “Take your underpants off.”

He yanked his briefs down his legs urgently, and kicked them off onto the floor. His cock arched upwards and his balls dangled downwards, the left one hanging rather lower than the right.

“Get on me,” I ordered him. “Straddle my face. I want to lick your shaft, your balls…”

“Yeah?” he said, looking at me stupidly.

“Yeah,” I stated. “I’ll lie here. You get on me. Cock in my face.”

He looked like he was out of his depth and muttered, “What about me wanking you?”

“That doesn’t matter. Just straddle my face.”

He climbed onto my bed and hunched over my chest, moving his throbbing cock and now free-hanging balls towards my face. As he did so, I got another whiff of that intoxicating odour from them and my own cock throbbed so hard it rose upwards from my stomach; I was more aroused that I had been in a very long time.

Again he directed his cock downwards into my mouth, and I gave him a minute or so of what seemed to be an enjoyable blowjob — one male administering oral stimulation to another. I took as much of his length down into my throat as I could and lapped strenuously at his fattened cock-head with my tongue. The more I licked at the head, the harder it throbbed and the more copious the ooze of salty juices from its puckered slit as he thrust back and forth. He grunted contentedly and held my head, using my mouth as a substitute for the pussy he so desperately wanted.

But my interest was focussed on other things: I wanted to sniff his balls, his pubic hair, the wiry hair between his legs and… what else? My longings, I recognised, weren’t those of a heterosexual man making do; I was fascinated at a basic, purely sexual level by this large excited man whose cock I was dutifully servicing with my mouth and I wanted to take in as much of his hairy, smelly maleness as I could.

I pulled off him and, catching my breath, said, “I want to suck your balls.”

He muttered a bewildered, “Yeah…?” And I realised I was fully in control of this situation. He would do what I wanted him to.

He pushed his bollocks into my face, large and heavy like golf balls inside his furry, wrinkled scrotum and I pressed my face into them, inhaling their musky odour which was more powerful and intense than that of his cock. Again, I felt overcome with lust, all too aware that to me this was a novel and entirely homosexual form of desire but unable and unwilling to resist it.

I sit in a local bar on a Friday night, hoping to find my next sexual conquest.

I look around the bar, all I see are women I’ve been with before, women who now won’t talk to me. “It’s their loss!” I think to myself.

A few minutes later, the door opens, and, I finally see her, she’s almost perfect, she looks to be about 5’9, maybe 5’10, she’s filled out in all the right places, and, she has light brown hair, and, she’s wearing a blue satin blouse, and, a grey mini skirt, with grey heels. She has the most perfect ass, looks like she’s never been fucked in her ass. I move in closer to make my move.

“Hi, can I buy you a drink?”

“Wow, you’re quick! I just got here a minute ago, and, you’re already hitting on me? You must be horny, are you?”

“I am hitting on you, and, yes, I am horny.” I say, smiling.

“At least you’re honest. My name is Carol.” She says, extending her hand to shake mine.

“Carol? I’m Steve.” I say, reaching out to shake her hand.

“Steve? Tell me, do you usually pick up strange women in bars?”

“Yes, I enjoy picking up women in bars.”

“Wow, you’re very honest. To answer your question, yes, you can buy me a drink. You seem like a nice enough guy.”

I buy her a beer, and, we move to a table in the corner of the bar.

“So, Steve, tell me, are you ever going to stop staring at my breasts, and, look me in the eyes?”

“I am, but, tell me, what size are those titties?”

“My, ‘titties’, as you call them, are a b cup, does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yes, Carol, it does. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Well, since you wondered about my breasts, let me ask, what size are you?”

“Do you mean, what size is my cock, Carol?”

“Yes, what size is your, um…..cock?”

“I’m 10-inches when I’m rock hard.”

“Wow, you’re huge!” She says, blushing.

“Now, Carol, what do you have no under those clothes?”

“Wow! You’re really direct! Well, I’m wearing a grey bra, and, a grey pair of thong panties.”

“Carol, I’m going to be honest, I’d love to take you back to my apartment, and, I’d love to fuck you, and, fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before!”

“And, are you going to make me suck your cock, Steve?”

“I am, Carol.”

“Oh my!” She says, blushing very red.

“Do you want to go back to my apartment, Carol?”


“Let’s go!”

She follows me in her car back to my apartment, we’re no sooner inside, and, I have her pinned against my door, kissing her, roughly squeezing her tits through her shirt.

“Want to see my titties, Steve?” She asks, opening her shirt, showing me her bra.

“Yeah, yeah, I do, Carol!”

She unhooks her bra, letting her tits bounce free.

“Don’t just stare at them, Steve, touch them.”

I reach out and start squeezing them, pinching her nipples, making her gasp in pleasure.

“Having my nipples pinched makes my pussy so wet.” She says, unzipping her skirt, letting me see the wet spot on her panties.

I kneel down in front of her, and, begin to kiss her on top of her panties, tracing the outline of her pussy lips through her panties.

“Oh my! You DO know what you’re doing, don’t you?” She says, giggling.

She slides her panties down, showing me her thin little patch of light brown pubic hair, just above her clit.

I spread her lips open and begin licking directly on her clit, making her squirm.

“You keep licking me like that, I’ll cum!” She moans out.

“That’s what I want, I want you to cum, cum for me, Carol, cum now!”

She screams out, and, has an explosive orgasm, soaking my face.

“Oh my God! I’ve never cum like that! Let me suck that cock, Steve, let me make you cum the way you made me cum!” She says, dropping to her knees in front of me, and, unzipping my pants.

She begins to swirl her tongue around the head of my cock, taking just the head into her mouth.

I grab the back of her head, and, make her take the rest of my cock in her mouth, making her gag.

“That’s it, gag on it!”

Once she adjusts to the size, I continue to hold the back of her head, and, begin fucking her face, slowly at first, then, faster, I can actually hear my balls slapping against her chin.

After a few minutes, I’m ready to explode.

“Ready to swallow my cum?” I say, as I grip her hair, and, firmly hold her head as I cum in her mouth, I cum so much some actually runs out of the corners of her mouth, I let go of her, finally letting her breathe.

“Oh, Steve, that was hot!” She says, letting her hand slide down to her pussy, and, teasing her clit.

I take her by her hand, and, lead her to my bedroom, and, shove her down onto my bed.

“What are you going to do to me, lover?” She asks, spreading her legs open for me.

“I want you to roll on to your stomach, and, place that pillow under your stomach, Carol.”

“Are you going to take my ass?” She asks, rolling on to her stomach.

“Yes!” I say, firmly grabbing her ass, and, spreading her ass cheeks open, and, gently running my tongue around the rim of her ass.

“Oh my God! That feels so…….GOOD!” She gasps out.

I get up behind her and, place the head of my cock at the rim of her ass.

“Push it in, lover!” She says.

I slowly push my cock into her ass, making her grunt a little.

“It hurts!” She gasps out.

I pull out just a little bit, then slam my cock, as hard as I can into her ass.

“OWWWW!!!” She yells out.

I reach up, and, grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back, as I begin to fuck her tight little ass, deep, and, hard.

“You’re gonna make me cum!” I yell.

“Cum, cum in my ass, lover!” She yell, just as my cock jerks, shooting my load deep into her ass.

I slowly pull my cock from her ass, letting the pain linger as long as I can.

We both roll onto our backs, and, just gaze into each others eyes, until we both fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning, but, Carol is already gone, but, she did leave me a note on my pillow:


Thank you for last night! Thank you for the wonderful orgasms you gave me, and, thank you for giving me my first experience with anal sex.

I’m going to leave you my phone number…….

Call me.

And, the next time I’m in town, I’ll be sure to find you!

Until we meet again, lover!


I lay back down in my bed, and, dream of the beautiful stranger who just occupied my bed.

To be continued…..

A bus. An ordinary bus on an ordinary day. Its not peak hour any more, I’ve worked late and the time has passed since the heavy tussle that comes with the afternoon. Now things have slowed down with more places to sit on each vehicle. The book I am trying to read isn’t good. I look up and about. Such is the world that we live in, few people are doing the same. Even those without a phone to play with or a friend to talk to, stare ahead squarely at nothing, as if real life is a distraction.

A man sits behind me, four seats further back. He catches my eye. Grins. His sea blue eyes are luminous, his stubble unpracticed, and his impromptu happiness breaks an otherwise handsome face into an expression of lopsided mischief. Who wouldn’t be hooked? My heart pounds. I look away. The driver breaks unexpectedly and elderly passengers make annoying noises of disapproval as they bend forward, riding the motion, their old bodies like carriages at a rail yard suddenly brought to a halt.

I look out the window to catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the day’s fading light and open my face up into a smile. I read somewhere if you are happy enough to smile when no one is watching, you must really mean it. Someone is watching me today. Blue eyes from the back seat makes me self conscious.

A colleague told me I looked like a nurse earlier, my work shirt is blue and white check. It accentuates my breasts and I don’t mind that it brings to mind a uniform. I’ve left the morgue and I like to pretend I have been at an office, working somewhere that smells less like disinfectant and has a view, preferably of water and trees.

Blue eyes focused in my direction cause the hairs on the back of my neck to tingle. A few delicious minutes pass by. I shift in my seat, watch members of the geriatric community pick their way carefully down the aisle and out into the strange, suspended, autumnal sunset on the street, their large, practical handbags held with purpose under fleshy, under-used arms.

I flinch. The man at the back of the bus shows me a dimple and I imagine he might share my sense of humour. I pause to scratch an itch on my leg. My stockings dip under the weight of my nails and I’m careful to alleviate the itch with a featherlight touch. These are my last pair.

Blue eyes gets up from the back of the bus. My stomach lurches. If he leaves it will just be me and the sky, the high pitched noise of the bus breaks at each stop and row after row of shops and houses. He doesn’t get off. The action of his hand curling around the arm rest near my shoulder has a sensual flavour, as though he’s caressing skin, not the thin aluminium rail.



He sits behind me. I swivel to look. I want to start a conversation but my throat is dry.

“Your eyes are questioning.”

“This is my poker face.”

He laughs. It’s magic. I bite my lip.

“I’m Paula.”


“Hi Tim. Want to come home with me?”

I haven’t thought about the words, they come out of my mouth before I’ve willingly formed them and it leaves me with a strange sensation in my middle. Say yes. I don’t want to fail.

“I might…?”


“Paula are you always this forward?”


I glance out the window and realise my stop is coming up. I ring the bell. Up the front of the bus feet shuffle as the elderly prepare themselves for the stop. It puts my nerves on edge. We grind to a halt. I get up without looking back. I can sense the heat his body gives off as he follows me. The bus pulls away in a blast of hot air and brake noise. Highway sounds hide my confusion. Tim gestures for me to lead the way. I start walking.

After only four paces, maybe five, he tugs on my arm and I lurch to a halt. I hadn’t realised I was practically running. His palm is warm and calloused as it slips into mine. We don’t say anything. I start off once more, slower this time, towing him away from the heavy noise of the street.

We take a turn, heading further away from the steady traffic and into cool, overhanging peppermint gums lining the road.

“Wait!” he says “Are you real?”

“I don’t know.” It comes out in a whisper.

I want him to kiss me. Silence feels like foreplay. I’m angry at the mundane, suburban setting. In the world of my imagination my handsome stranger would tug me into an alleyway. We would embrace with passionate, frantic urgency.

I look up from my own thoughts into unsettling azure blue. I can’t bear to keep staring. We’re holding hands, facing each other like lovers. He uncurls his fingers, releasing me. I feel the cool afternoon air where his palm has been connected to mine. He raises his hands to my face, encircles my cheeks in an intimate gesture. I catch my breath.

“Do you want me?”

He leans forward and kisses my nose. I brush the softness of my cheek through his waiting hand, eyes closed. I don’t answer the question, I don’t feel I need to. I just wait.

“Do you come here often?”

“Every day.”

Humbled. Obtuse.

He strokes his thumb across my lower lip. I know my torso trembles. I can feel my body reacting to his touch and I can hear it too, in my quiet, jagged breaths.

The not knowing is over. I stretch up on tippy-toes and connect my lips to his. Hot and full, a reward for all the pissing about. I assess their weight, time and again before drawing the courage to press for an open-mouthed gesture. He complies. The afternoon threatens rain. Tim tastes of salt and aniseed, promise and apricots. He pulls away. I don’t know what he sees.

“Can we go somewhere?”

I smile, open my eyes wide and grin like the world is winning. My familiar street fades and I start to look at the surrounds as though I have never seen them before. He doesn’t take my hand as we move off. We don’t speak.

In the hall at the apartment block I fumble for my keys. For a moment I’m nervous. He slides a warm hand across my kidney as I rummage in my bag. I forget what it is to be nervous. It’s a game, a foregone conclusion.

I open the door to my rooms and we go into the silence together. I take a drink of water and look across at him as I down the lukewarm liquid. I imagine his cock in his pants and how it might taste. I close my eyes, letting the water run over my tongue in the darkness. When I reopen them he stands with his hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground. His brown hair obscures the expression on his face. He plays with his feet, leaning on the arches, balancing and then bringing them flat to the floor.

Tim looks up. Clears his throat.

“Come here.”

Before I’ve closed the distance between us entirely I’ve started work on the buttons of his shirt. It’s a light plaid, not dissimilar to mine and I want it gone. It feels like I’m unwrapping a present. He brushes my hair back behind my ear, assisting me and at the same time adding a tingling sensation to my face, my neck and the zero-ing heat in my middle.

A gentle finger under my chin draws my eye line away from small, clear buttons. This time it’s Tim who leans in, offering his lips for an embrace. The moment feels quiet, fragile, a palpable amount of trust in the air. In my minds eye our passion explodes like sex in a foreign film, all heaving breaths and rank, rabid movement as the participants devour one another in love play. Tim takes his time. He presses kisses on my mouth as though savouring the taste.

With my eyes closed I will him to hurry up. I don’t want gentle, I don’t want affection. My body sings to be fucked. I lean in, opening my mouth, our teeth click. My eyes are closed as I fumble for shirt buttons, clearing the material from his chest, bending my head, biting his nipple. He squirms, swats me away. His eyes are a deeper blue, steeped in lust. I lick my lips and flick his belt buckle.

Tim takes a run at my shirt, foregoing buttons, a few of them pop as he slides material over my breasts, over my head, discarding the garment carelessly on the floor. I’ve a light pink lace bra and my nipples stand to attention trapped beneath it. Tim bends his head and adds moisture to the lace, embracing first one aureole, then the other in a sloppy, covetous kiss.

“Oo Oh.”

I can’t help it. I squeeze my thighs together. He rubs the front of my skirt, cupping what he can find of my pussy in my tight, navy work skirt.



“Tell me what you want?”

I open my eyes. He drags a thumb across the wet material on my nipple, expertly distracting my thoughts.

“I want you to take all your clothes off. I want to watch you do it. By the time you get to naked I want your stiff cock to spring free, begging to be buried in me. I want you to stand in front of me and hold onto it. So I can see you throbbing to fuck a woman. Then I want you to go find my bedroom. I’ll get undressed. I’ll follow you and I want you to start by eating my pussy. What I want most is to have your head buried between my legs… You know, you’ve got beautiful eyes”

“And you’ve a dirty mouth.” His voice is uncommonly deep, desirous.

I take a breath, close my eyes to steady myself.

“Will you do it?”


Tim unclasps my bra and removes the lace garment. My breasts feel heavy, needy. He cups them in both hands and slides his palms up my torso. I snap the catch on his pants. My shaking thumb and forefinger find the zipper, the cotton of his jocks and the cock beneath. His adam’s apple bobs in amazement. I take the flesh and grasp his meat in my hand. It grows and grows. Tim kicks off his shoes.

He leads me to the couch, just a few steps away and seats me facing him. We kiss. It’s an encounter loaded with promise and heavy breathing. I revel in it. Our messy tongues find warm, moist flesh. Tim rips my tights. He rolls them down, off my thighs and shimmies up my skirt. My knickers are damp and he tugs my hips towards him, I slump in the seat. He drags my knickers to one side and tastes my pussy, wetting the material and my flesh with his tongue. It’s delicious. I squirm, reaching to bury my hands into his hair.


My knickers slide off in his deft hands and I spread my thighs wide. Tim licks and toys with my clit. I tremble, I ache. I ply at his shoulders, willing him to break contact with my wet skin. I want his cock to slide inside me. I can feel an orgasm blooming.

He inserts digits. I lose control. On the verge of orgasm I pull on his arms. Come to me. Don’t let me die in your arms. Lust and blackness engulf my vision. I feel him pull back, finally, moments before my surrender. He sits astride the coffee table, creating distance between us. His proud, protruding member is hard and thick. I lick my lips, crawl on my knees towards him but fail to take the meat in my mouth. Instead we exchange sticky kisses, he tastes of sweat and me. It’s exhilarating. I waste no time beginning to slide my pussy down his pole.

His blue eyes are hidden behind dilated irises. Tim’s breath is short and his chest heaves. I feel so proud. We both look down at the connection of our sexes, my pussy juice coating his shaft. Before I’m sunk full of cock, he braces his heels and moves us, until I’m buried in the couch, my back to the cushions, cock meat all the way in.


I bite my lip bury my nose in his neck. I don’t want him to stroke. I feel sated, played, he’s all the way inside me and I’m full up, dominated, aroused. With his big hands, Tim tilts my hips. His thumbs press upon my hip bones and his cock begins to glide in and out. Blue-black eyes feast on my expression. I stare back up at him, relishing the unfamiliar feeling of being taken, ridden, enjoyed.

I use my hands to steady us and make an effort to push back. The couch is too forgiving and the sensation dwindles. Wordlessly we switch to the floor, dragging a cushion for my pelvis and another for my head as we shift. My toes touch his ears as he drives into my softness. I’m alive. I tingle with knowledge and the precipice beckons. I don’t know when I’ll fall.

Tim leans back, he takes a moment to watch his cock as it hides and reveals itself. Then he licks a thumb and thrusts it towards my clit. I grind on his hand and explode into shards of delirium. Tim stops the action of his fingers and shifts his weight. He pistons into me, shaking with the effort of it. I hold onto his back, his butt; spent and waiting for him to cum.

He doesn’t. Instead he withdraws, I keep my legs spread and he beckons my hands, willing me to jerk him off as I lie underneath him. Blue eyes wander over my prone body. I feel him go extra-specially hard in my hands. He cups my breast. I bite my lip and concentrate on the action of pumping his purple cock. He shudders and a ribbon of semen explodes onto my belly. His cock pulses, still in my hand. Spoof runs down my digits.

He drops his weight onto his hands and leans down to kiss me on the lips. He’s panting more than I and we are both slightly sticky with sweat. I let go of his penis. I wipe my hand along the cooling cum on my belly and taste it, just for effect. I get dimples as payoff. Tim flops down onto the floor at my side and for a moment we both stare at my familiar ceiling.

Shyly I slide a palm over his hip. I lean on one elbow, looking at my freshly-found lover. After a moment he opens his eyes.



“I’ve never picked up a woman on public transport before.”

“I wanted to fuck you on the bus.”

“You have a terrible poker face.”

Tim kisses my nose.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye as her homely face wrinkled and crinkled at the printout in her hand. She looked back and forth from her itinerary, to her wrist watch, and back again. She was clearly not pleased.

“Problems?” I asked from seat 22A.

“I think I’m going to miss my connection!” she said from seat 22B.

I could sympathize. Air travel, with which I am more than slightly familiar these days, has been particularly harrowing of late, and I’ve missed more than my fair share of connections myself. I tried to commiserate with her. “We took off over an hour late. I’ll probably miss my own connection, you know. On the plus side, Charlotte is a fairly nice airport to be stuck in, even if you are there for the night. Comfortable chairs to sleep in, and free wireless.”

“For the night!” she shrieked, not at all mollified. “Do you really think it will come to that?”

“You never know. I always like to plan for the worst,” I told her. I looked her up and down. She really did have quite a homely face, with lumpy lips, a receding chin, and a slightly mottled complexion. But other than that, she was a nicely shaped woman. Her breasts were well proportioned, and strained her rib-knit sweater most pleasantly. Her legs were long and lean, and ended in some nice tall black boots. But if I were to fuck her, I thought lewdly, it would have to be doggie-style. “Best not to get yourself worked up unnecessarily. What will be will be, you know.”

We chatted of trivialities for the rest of the flight. I’ve learned to be nice to all women, even ugly ones. For one thing, they often have good-looking friends. And for another thing, on lonely business trips, they are better than nothing at all. Her name was Heather, and she was connecting in Charlotte for a flight to Atlanta. She did have a nice, deep, sexy voice. I figured that in the dark, fucking her pussy and listening to her deep voice moaning, she’d probably be alright. She was attending a research conference. I was connecting to Richmond for a sales call. Given the lateness of our departure, it was unlikely that either of us would be checking into our intended hotels tonight, but more likely sleeping in the terminal at Charlotte, or in an airport motel if we got lucky.

We finally landed, and Heather and I raced for the terminal to check the flight monitors. As we jogged up the jetway in single file, I couldn’t help but notice the erotic wiggle of her well-formed ass. Her cheeks pounded out a perfect figure-eight in time with her long, booted strides. Homely face or not, she sure had a nice pooper! Naturally, both of our connecting flights were long gone. We walked together to the customer service kiosk to see what we could salvage of the situation. Since it was already after 11 pm, there were no more flights out for the night. We both got booked on early morning flights to our destinations, but neither of us was particularly pleased with the situation. They gave us each hotel vouchers, though. At least we wouldn’t have to sleep on airport benches.

“Do you know of any good restaurants around here?” Heather asked me.

“Not really. But we should probably go to the hotel and get a room before they are all taken. We can always call for room service.”

We grabbed a cab to the nearest hotel, in order to be close by for our early morning flights. We arrived to find a long line of stranded passengers at the front desk, all wanting rooms. By the time we got to the front of the line, the desk clerk shook his head sadly.

“We only have one room left,” he said. “But it is a junior suite, with a king size bed and a fold-out couch.”

“I’ll take the couch,” I told Heather. “You can trust me. I’m a perfect gentleman.”

“A perfect gentleman?” she chided. “That doesn’t sound like much fun.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that; just a flippant remark by a weary road warrior? Or a flirtatious come-on? If she’d been a beautiful babe, I’d have been more likely to hope it was a come-on. Given the circumstances, I suspended judgment. Either way, we took the room and checked in.

Too tired to search for a restaurant, we ordered room service. I ordered a sirloin burger, extra rare, and fries. She ordered a salad, chicken wings, and a baked potato. We also helped ourselves generously to the mini-bar, red wine for her and vodka for me. Within an hour we were feeling much better. In fact, we were old pals, laughing and joking about life on the road and the incompetence of the airline industry. She was a good conversationalist, and I found myself liking her. I was almost glad that she was so homely. Sometimes it’s nice to have a woman friend who is just a friend!

Finally ready to turn in, I opened up the fold-out couch. Since our checked luggage was still entombed somewhere within the bowels of the airport, we had nothing to sleep in but our underwear. I stripped down to my boxers, and she to her bra and panties. I curled up on the fold-out, and wished Heather a good-night.

Instead of saying goodnight back, she stated bluntly, “I saw you staring at my ass in the airport, you know.”

“You could see that? You must have eyes in the back of your head,” I said. Women. They can always surprise you!

“Maybe,” she said. “So have you always been an ass man?”

“No, not really. But yours… it really moves nicely when you walk. I’ve never seen an ass wiggle quite like that,” I told her, in all honesty. It did have some very nice moves. I remembered that gyrating figure-eight and my cock stirred slightly in my boxers.

“I am rather proud of it. In fact, I think it is my best feature. It’s also my most talented feature.”

“Oh??” I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. But I had a hunch I was about to find out.

“Have you ever fucked a woman in the ass?” she asked. She’d had just enough wine to ask such a blunt question, and I’d had just enough vodka to answer it.

“Well, once or twice, when they requested it,” I told her. Personally, I’ve never really seen the point in fucking a chick in the ass, not when there is a perfectly serviceable pussy just an inch away. Still, when the subject of discussion turns to sex, I’m always willing to listen. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well…,” she looked me in the eye. “Personally, anal sex is my all-time favorite. I think I have more nerve endings in my anus than I have in my pussy, and I’ve devoted myself to developing my butt-fucking skills. And the way you were admiring my ass, well, I figured maybe you would be interested.”

I looked her up and down. She wasn’t kidding. Sitting on the bed in her skivvies, her homely face showed me a resolutely earnest expression, and I sensed both a profound trust in me, and a deep, unfilled need. This chick wanted some action, and wasn’t going to be denied. She certainly wasn’t going to be denied by me, anyway.

“I’m game,” I told her. I’ve never been one to turn down meaningless anonymous sex, especially when on the road and missing my sweet sexy girlfriend back home. The business travel life is lonely enough without being picky about who you bed down with. “Talk to me.”

“Well, first of all, forget about that silly fold-out couch and come join me on the bed.”

I made short work of hopping to the bed, shedding my boxers on the way. She unhooked her bra as I watched, and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Then she stood up, turned to face away from me, and theatrically slid her panties down to her ankles, her glorious ass flashing its vertical smile towards me. Moments later we were rolling naked on the bed, arms and legs wrapped around each other, tongues jousting in each others’ mouths, and pressing our bodies close. Her body was nice and warm and soft, and nestled and rubbed against my own in all the right places. Her soft flesh felt marvelous against my own as we kissed deeply. But I kept my eyes closed so I wouldn’t have to see her homely face. It wasn’t long before my cock responded to the stimulation, and was sticking out like a diving board.

She gently stroked my throbbing cock as we rolled in each others’ embrace. “This is nice,” she said, her soft fingers sliding up and down my shaft. “Are you ready for some serious action? I really want you to slide this cock into my asshole. I’d like that a lot.”

“Your whim is my command, darling,” I told her. And I meant it. Although I’ve never been a butt-fucking kind of guy, her tender nature and her wonderful kisses made me want to please her. Besides, a hole is a hole, and my cock had worked up a load that needed to be released somewhere soon.

She rummaged around in her carry-on bag and pulled out a bottle of Astro-Glide. She held it up to the light, and we both watched the viscous liquid settling in the bottle.

“You travel with Astro-Glide?” I asked her. “Now that IS being prepared!”

“I prefer to call it ‘Asshole Glide’,” she laughed, and squeezed a long bead onto the top of my cock. Her soft hands began slathering it all over my shaft, up and down, then around the head, and getting me completely lubed up. She added a second long bead and continued her ministrations. It felt marvelous. I forced myself to watch her face instead of her sexy hands on my tool so that I wouldn’t cum right then and there. Finally she let go and handed me the bottle. “Get my butthole good and slick with it, will you? Then you can start me off with a finger or two.”

She squirmed up onto the bed, her shapely body executing all sorts of lovely motions as she assumed an all-fours position, her lovely caboose in the air and spread open for my inspection. I admired the round shapeliness of her buttocks, the firmness of her cheeks, and the milky whiteness of her soft skin. I knelt behind her and drizzled a long thin train of the lube into her crack. I watched as it dripped slowly from her tailbone down toward her brown pucker, reflecting the light of the ceiling lamp and focusing my attention on her nether orifice.

As I watched the sticky liquid surrounding her butt-eye, I tentatively reached out one finger, and traced it up and down her anal crease. I felt her body shudder slightly each time my fingertip crossed her brown puckered anus. I caressed her pretty little starfish over and over, and enjoyed the feeling of power as it made her shudder with pleasure with each stroke. She really was sensitive there. After several back and forth trips, I finally, gently, slid my fingertip inside her golden depths. I pressed shallowly and gently at first, of course, but then gradually deeper and more forcefully. She let out a series of low moans, deeper and stronger as I penetrated her dark rosebud more and more intensely. Finally, I plunged my finger in straight, first to one knuckle, then two. Her moans became more guttural and more intense. I shoved my finger in to the third knuckle, and began a beckoning motion with my fingertip. Her body began to shudder, and her moans intensified further still. Finally, I pressed my finger in to the hilt, and added a rotational motion to the beckoning gesture. She whipped her head back and forth, and her moans intensified to the level of a low scream.

“Two fingers!” she shouted, and pushed her buttocks back against my hand. I added a second finger, and beckoned and rotated for all I was worth. Her thrashing intensified still further. I sawed and twisted and beckoned, and marveled at how her body responded to the stimulation. She bucked and moaned and shuddered, but eventually she needed more. “Enough fingers!” she shouted at me over her shoulder. “Fuck me, damn it! Fuck me with your fucking cock!”

That was enough for me. I climbed onto the bed and knee-walked up to her shapely derriere. Her anus was twitching and oozing, fairly begging for my tool. My throbbing cock was jutting out like a number nine re-bar, and I grasped it in my hand and pressed it up between her cheeks, my flaring head directly against her raw, needful bunghole. As I slowly pushed it against that brown bull’s-eye, I drizzled more lube from the bottle into the heart of the action. I pressed, gently at first, then harder, until the rim of my cock-head cleared her sphincter and I heard myself enter her nether regions with a distinct “pop!” She emitted a shriek, but if it was of pain or pleasure, I could not tell.

Once the head of my cock was inside her, the going became much easier. I was surprised at the ease of action, as my cock slid back and forth as easily as a piston in a cylinder in a high-performance sports car engine, her bowels holding it in a snug, slippery embrace. I began pumping her ass with wild abandon, just like I would a wonton and well-lubed pussy. However, her ass pumped back with much more talent than I’ve ever experienced from any vagina. For one thing, she was able to clench her butthole tight around my shaft, much like a fist might choke up on a baseball bat. She would clench me tightly on my in-stroke, then loosen up on my out-stroke, and then tighten again on my next in-stroke. The effect was like that of a never-ending penetration, like I was fucking an infinitely-deep pussy. Several minutes of that, and my cock was stimulated in ways it had never before felt. The clenching also helped contain the pressure of my blood in the shaft, and I felt bigger and harder than I had ever felt before.

But that wasn’t the end of her talents. Next, her butt cheeks themselves began to get into the act; while her butthole was squeezing on the middle of my shaft, the muscles of her cheeks began closing and clenching on the base. It felt like two large, soft pillows, gently cradling and loving my cock shaft. Between the bite of her anus and the nibbling of her cheeks, my cock had never before felt so coddled and loved. I began swinging from my hips, probing the depths of her colon, and feeling the beginnings of a powerful orgasm start to well up deep in my loins. On each thrust, I also felt the firm softness and warmth of her butt cheeks on my thighs, adding yet another dimension to the stimulations. I could easily have reached an awesome climax this way, but she wasn’t done surprising me yet. She began swiveling from the hips, moving in a circular, gyrating motion, a figure-eight combined with an up-and-down and a back-and-forth, all in time with the anus-clenching and buttocks-nibbling. I fought to maintain control, as I wanted to enjoy this marvelous symphony of sensations for as long as possible.

The last straw was when she reached her hand down between her own legs and began stroking my dangling nutsack. Her fingertips, wet with the juice from her own pussy, twirled and caressed over the sensitive folds of my scrotum. I found out later that at the same time, she had her thumb on her clit, which of course only made her bucking, twisting pelvic motions all the more intense. All of these sensations were more than I could stand: her clenching, almost prehensile anus, her firm, warm butt cheeks, her gyrating hips, and her delicately stroking fingers. Oh my!

As I felt my orgasm reaching the level of inevitability, I realized that all this stimulation was not strictly for my benefit; that for each action that stimulated my tortured cock, there was an equal and opposite reaction acting on her sensitive, highly trained anus. She screamed as an orgasmic shudder wracked her entire body, and her shuddering, twitching motions were just enough to send me over the edge. We came together, our bodies vibrating and spasming as one, my cock pumping spurt after spurt of cum deep into her colon. She collapsed onto her belly in a swoon, and I flopped onto her back, completely spent.

We lay there for awhile like a short stack of pancakes, both gasping and breathing and drinking in the afterglow of our orgasms. The blood was pounding in my ears, and my cock was only slowly softening in her glorious ass. My mind was reeling; I felt that I needed to take some time and reevaluate my entire opinion about anal sex. Maybe a perfectly good pussy an inch away ISN’T a reason not to fuck a beautiful, tight, sucking and clenching asshole? Who knew?

Finally, putting these thoughts out of my head for now, to be considered at a later date, possibly over a martini at some hotel bar on a more lonely road trip, I rolled off of her, extracting my shriveling tool from her brown love tunnel. She flipped over onto her back, and raised herself up on her elbows, flipping her hair out of her eyes and breathing deeply. “Well,” she said, “that was a really great butt-fucking! Are you sure you are new at this?” I assured her that I was. She looked me piercingly in the eyes, so much so that I almost became nervous, and asked her what she was thinking about.

“Oh, not much,” she said. “Just come here and hold me awhile.” We curled up in a spooning position, my arms around her waist, my quiescent cock just millimeters away from the orifice that had brought it so much joy only moments before.

My eyes fluttered open, and I realized that I’d been dozing. I was lying on my back, and she was looking down at me, still with that piecing look in her eyes. She was also slowly stroking my cock, which had sprung back to life. “Well?” she asked me, mysteriously.

“Well, what?”

“Well, are you ready for the flip-side? So far you’ve only experienced half of the pleasures of anal sex.”

“Huh?” I said, not knowing what she meant by that. Or, more truthfully, not wanting to know what she meant. But I did know, in my heart.

“You know what I’m talking about,” she said conspiratorially. She winked at me, her homely face taking on a wise and knowing mien. “You didn’t think you’d enjoy poking me in the butt, but you did. Maybe you’d like receiving it too, more than you’d expect.”

Automatically, my face registered shock at her suggestion. But, I have to admit, my revulsion was nowhere near as complete as I would have expected it to be. Truth be told, I’ve had my share of digital prostate exams, and I’m not talking about computer-aided, here! And secretly, when the doctor plunges his finger deep into my asshole, and probes around my prostate, I’ve always kind of enjoyed the full, warm feelings that I experienced in my deepest, darkest areas. Although I always maintained, even to myself, that it was something I merely endured, there was no denying, in my heart of hearts, that there was a certain amount of pleasure involved, and even a certain amount of curiosity about how much more pleasure there was yet to be realized. And here I was, in a hotel room in Charlotte, North Carolina, with a woman whose last name I didn’t even know. What better or more anonymous venue for exploring these secret and forbidden passions?

“Oh… Kay,” I heard myself saying, against my better judgment. “How exactly do we do this?” My cock was twitching again, and my sexual instincts and curiosity were overruling years of conditioning.

Her homely face smiled, and her eyes twinkled. Suddenly she wasn’t nearly as homely as she had been before, but almost beautiful in the joy that showed on her face. She reached again into her carry-on bag, and pulled out a large, purple, jelly dildo. My eyes turned into saucers!

“I call this one the Widow-Maker,” she said. It was as long as a Louisville Slugger and as thick as a bottle of Grey Goose, and made of a wiggly purple translucent substance. It scared the shit out of me! “I’ve had lots of fun with it.”

“You can’t be serious!” I cried. “That would split me in two!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t use this one on a virgin like you,” she said. “I just wanted you to know what you might work up to some day. I have a much smaller one, too.” She reached back into the bag and pulled out a shorter, thinner dildo, but still of the same wiggly, translucent purple rubbery material. Although the shaft looked much more benign that the Widow-Maker, it still sported a large, flared, mushroom-shaped head that looked like it could cause problems for a virgin asshole such as my own. The shaft was highly textured, with many ridges and rivulets along its length. I could only imagine what they would feel like on the sensitive nerve-endings of my butthole. At the opposite end of the shaft there was a small, hook-shaped projection, like a crooked finger. “I call this one Little Jimmy,” she said.

July 2018
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