Make me dirty
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steve44uk
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cataclysm
Delilah loved the public lecture programme at her local university. Usually free, the lectures covered a broad range of subjects, and her innate curiosity was such that, even when she knew nothing about the subject in question, she left with a warm glow of satisfaction that she'd learned something.
She arrived her customary 20 minutes before the start of the talk and secured her favourite spot in the front row - she liked to ask questions, and being at the front, not to mention her striking blonde hair and shapely figure, meant she usually got hers in early.
The lecture was entitled, rather sensationally, she thought, "Cataclysm! The Great Flood Myths Explained." She hoped it wasn't going to be a lot of pseudo-religious theorising. Science and history were her passions, and she had little time for deities.
The speaker, one Dr. Eugene Barthwaite, was a handsome fellow in his mid-forties with long straight brown hair with hints of grey and a neatly trimmed beard. Delilah had a thing for men in glasses, and his were small, rectangular wire-rimmed ones that did nothing to hide his piercing blue eyes as they roamed over the audience when he spoke.
Delilah found herself losing focus. She wondered how might look under his conservative slacks and button-down shirt. She found herself imagining how his slim-fingered hands might feel cupping her round buttocks, or teasing her nipples, which had hardened noticibly as his talk progressed and her mind wandered...
As he explained that, although the word cataclysm had come in recent years to denote any large-scale disaster, the word originally derived from the Greek kataklysmos, meaning to wash down, and probably referred to a flooding of the Aegean Basin in the late Pleistocene or early Holocene era. As Delilah watched his full lips forming those exotic words and speculated on how they would feel pressed against her eager vulva, she shifted in her seat and pressed her thighs together to exert a delicious pressure on her now-swollen pussy. As the familiar warmth of arousal spread through her loins, she noted wryly that she seemed to be experiencing her own great flood right now...
opinionated
Delilah loved the public lecture programme at her local university. Usually free, the lectures covered a broad range of subjects, and her innate curiosity was such that, even when she knew nothing about the subject in question, she left with a warm glow of satisfaction that she'd learned something.
She arrived her customary 20 minutes before the start of the talk and secured her favourite spot in the front row - she liked to ask questions, and being at the front, not to mention her striking blonde hair and shapely figure, meant she usually got hers in early.
The lecture was entitled, rather sensationally, she thought, "Cataclysm! The Great Flood Myths Explained." She hoped it wasn't going to be a lot of pseudo-religious theorising. Science and history were her passions, and she had little time for deities.
The speaker, one Dr. Eugene Barthwaite, was a handsome fellow in his mid-forties with long straight brown hair with hints of grey and a neatly trimmed beard. Delilah had a thing for men in glasses, and his were small, rectangular wire-rimmed ones that did nothing to hide his piercing blue eyes as they roamed over the audience when he spoke.
Delilah found herself losing focus. She wondered how might look under his conservative slacks and button-down shirt. She found herself imagining how his slim-fingered hands might feel cupping her round buttocks, or teasing her nipples, which had hardened noticibly as his talk progressed and her mind wandered...
As he explained that, although the word cataclysm had come in recent years to denote any large-scale disaster, the word originally derived from the Greek kataklysmos, meaning to wash down, and probably referred to a flooding of the Aegean Basin in the late Pleistocene or early Holocene era. As Delilah watched his full lips forming those exotic words and speculated on how they would feel pressed against her eager vulva, she shifted in her seat and pressed her thighs together to exert a delicious pressure on her now-swollen pussy. As the familiar warmth of arousal spread through her loins, she noted wryly that she seemed to be experiencing her own great flood right now...
opinionated
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satisfy
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opinionated
You looked at me with that devilish grin of yours. "I want you to stick the six inch red buttplug into me before we head out to dinner."
I look at you and smile. "Oh? The red one? Not the four inch black one, that's a bit thicker."
"No, the red one, it's nice and long, but not too wide. I can keep it in with less effort. Plus I love how it makes me feel as I walk around."
As I grab the lube I'm aware that I've never been turned on by someone as opinionated as you are before...
butterfingers
You looked at me with that devilish grin of yours. "I want you to stick the six inch red buttplug into me before we head out to dinner."
I look at you and smile. "Oh? The red one? Not the four inch black one, that's a bit thicker."
"No, the red one, it's nice and long, but not too wide. I can keep it in with less effort. Plus I love how it makes me feel as I walk around."
As I grab the lube I'm aware that I've never been turned on by someone as opinionated as you are before...
butterfingers
steve44uk
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butterfingers
George still couldn't quite believe his luck. Even as Mrs Blomstein's nimble fingers undid the buttons on his shirt and slipped inside it to playfully tweak his sensitive nipple, he marvelled at the fact that, up until half an hour ago, it had been an ordinary Sunday morning.
He'd been for his morning stroll at around 7am, as usual. In his late fifties, George Swann was a creature of habit, his life running on clearly defined tracks laid down and shored up over decades. He was just checking his mailbox in the lobby (he'd forgotten to do so the afternoon before, a fact that had been preying on his mind since he'd woken that morning) when his neighbour from across the hallway came in through the main doors.
Mrs Blomstein was a handsome woman in her early fifties, he guessed. Her husband had died suddenly a couple of years back, not long after George had moved into the apartment complex. He remembered seeing her in the little black dress she'd chosen for his funeral, and the pang of guilt that he felt as he admired her ample curves and pale complexion, both of which were accentuated by her widow's weeds. Not that he'd ever done anything about it. His painful nervousness around women had seen to that...
She'd come into he lobby as he was locking the mailbox again. His eyes dropped, and he mumbled his customary "'Morning..." She smiled, her full, red lips immaculately painted, even at this early hour on a Sunday, to set off her auburn hair, and returned the greeting. The colour was high in her cheeks - he'd observed her many times walking briskly down the sidewalk, her full buttocks swaying pleasingly in whatever skirt (always skirts or dresses, never trousers) she was wearing that day. She looked... so alive...
Instead of heading off to her apartment, Mrs Blomstein had begun talking animatedly to George, opining that is was such a beautiful morning she just had to go for a walk, and wasn't the air just so crisp today? George nodded mutely but, undeterred, she carried on, informing him that she'd had trouble sleeping ever since her husband passed - she thought she'd get over the loneliness of no longer having her husband alongside her in bed but, Lord, it was hard some nights...
George's cheeks pinkened at the combined assault of the thought of Mrs Blomstein, supine in her lonely bed, and her breathy accentuation of the work "hard..." He stammered the beginning of some stock condolence, but she'd already moved on. Her monologue had veered alarmingly to the hot water heater in her apartment, which had been cutting out for no apparent reason. George, in an uncharacteristically bold move, managed to get a word in edgewise to the effect that he'd had the same problem. Being an electrical engineer by trade, he'd tracked the fault to a loose connection, soldered the joint and not had an ounce of bother since.
Mrs Blomstein, almost ecstatically impressed with this piece of DIY prowess, had asked him there and then to take a look in her airing cupboard. Twenty minutes later, her boiler was in full working order and George had been showered with admiration, coffee and cookies. It wasn't long before she'd made it clear that it wasn't just her boiler that needed servicing...
So there he was, stretched out on the couch, while Mrs Blomstein (he still didn't know her first name, for pity's sake!), her mouth clamped greedily around the swollen head of his dick, manoeuvred her plump, glistening pussy over his face, avidly rubbing herself against his mouth and nose. George had many faults, but being slow on the uptake wasn't one of them. He set about his implicit instructions eagerly, his tongue striking up a counterpoint with hers as she expertly teased him.
He wondered, a few minutes later, just how "chance" their meeting in the lobby had really been when Mrs Blomstein, breathless now from his ministrations, had told him she wanted him to "do" her from behind. She'd directed him to the drawer in the chest at the end of the couch, where he'd find some condoms. Trembling with a combination of nervousness and poorly suppressed lust, George fumbled the sheath from its foil wrapper and moved to position it over the tip of his cock. However, his fingers betrayed him, dropping the goddamned thing on the couch. He could have screamed with frustration.
"Oh, c'mere, butterfingers," she cooed, picking it up and skinning it expertly onto his slim but rigid shaft. Her fingers lingered at the base, squeezing gently as she placed a soft kiss on the latex-clad head.
"There! That's better... Now come here, baby. I've been waiting for this all night..."
cornucopia
George still couldn't quite believe his luck. Even as Mrs Blomstein's nimble fingers undid the buttons on his shirt and slipped inside it to playfully tweak his sensitive nipple, he marvelled at the fact that, up until half an hour ago, it had been an ordinary Sunday morning.
He'd been for his morning stroll at around 7am, as usual. In his late fifties, George Swann was a creature of habit, his life running on clearly defined tracks laid down and shored up over decades. He was just checking his mailbox in the lobby (he'd forgotten to do so the afternoon before, a fact that had been preying on his mind since he'd woken that morning) when his neighbour from across the hallway came in through the main doors.
Mrs Blomstein was a handsome woman in her early fifties, he guessed. Her husband had died suddenly a couple of years back, not long after George had moved into the apartment complex. He remembered seeing her in the little black dress she'd chosen for his funeral, and the pang of guilt that he felt as he admired her ample curves and pale complexion, both of which were accentuated by her widow's weeds. Not that he'd ever done anything about it. His painful nervousness around women had seen to that...
She'd come into he lobby as he was locking the mailbox again. His eyes dropped, and he mumbled his customary "'Morning..." She smiled, her full, red lips immaculately painted, even at this early hour on a Sunday, to set off her auburn hair, and returned the greeting. The colour was high in her cheeks - he'd observed her many times walking briskly down the sidewalk, her full buttocks swaying pleasingly in whatever skirt (always skirts or dresses, never trousers) she was wearing that day. She looked... so alive...
Instead of heading off to her apartment, Mrs Blomstein had begun talking animatedly to George, opining that is was such a beautiful morning she just had to go for a walk, and wasn't the air just so crisp today? George nodded mutely but, undeterred, she carried on, informing him that she'd had trouble sleeping ever since her husband passed - she thought she'd get over the loneliness of no longer having her husband alongside her in bed but, Lord, it was hard some nights...
George's cheeks pinkened at the combined assault of the thought of Mrs Blomstein, supine in her lonely bed, and her breathy accentuation of the work "hard..." He stammered the beginning of some stock condolence, but she'd already moved on. Her monologue had veered alarmingly to the hot water heater in her apartment, which had been cutting out for no apparent reason. George, in an uncharacteristically bold move, managed to get a word in edgewise to the effect that he'd had the same problem. Being an electrical engineer by trade, he'd tracked the fault to a loose connection, soldered the joint and not had an ounce of bother since.
Mrs Blomstein, almost ecstatically impressed with this piece of DIY prowess, had asked him there and then to take a look in her airing cupboard. Twenty minutes later, her boiler was in full working order and George had been showered with admiration, coffee and cookies. It wasn't long before she'd made it clear that it wasn't just her boiler that needed servicing...
So there he was, stretched out on the couch, while Mrs Blomstein (he still didn't know her first name, for pity's sake!), her mouth clamped greedily around the swollen head of his dick, manoeuvred her plump, glistening pussy over his face, avidly rubbing herself against his mouth and nose. George had many faults, but being slow on the uptake wasn't one of them. He set about his implicit instructions eagerly, his tongue striking up a counterpoint with hers as she expertly teased him.
He wondered, a few minutes later, just how "chance" their meeting in the lobby had really been when Mrs Blomstein, breathless now from his ministrations, had told him she wanted him to "do" her from behind. She'd directed him to the drawer in the chest at the end of the couch, where he'd find some condoms. Trembling with a combination of nervousness and poorly suppressed lust, George fumbled the sheath from its foil wrapper and moved to position it over the tip of his cock. However, his fingers betrayed him, dropping the goddamned thing on the couch. He could have screamed with frustration.
"Oh, c'mere, butterfingers," she cooed, picking it up and skinning it expertly onto his slim but rigid shaft. Her fingers lingered at the base, squeezing gently as she placed a soft kiss on the latex-clad head.
"There! That's better... Now come here, baby. I've been waiting for this all night..."
cornucopia
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Saxon_Hart
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Jim enjoyed his security job at the sorority house. He told his brother it was like a warehouse of pussy. Jerry didn't believe him and decided to visit Jim at work one night. After roaming the halls and seeing all of the sleeping girls he came back and told Jim, "Damn! It's acornucopia of snatch! Let's go get some." Ten seconds later Jim's boss entered the room and threw them off the property.
cocaine
robertreams
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As his tongue flicked rapidly in and out of my cherry asshole, his tongue stud felt as if someone had repeatedly forced a pebble in and out of me,causing my sphincter to clutch open and closed.
steve44uk
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Dude, I don't think you've understood how the game works... You're supposed to incorporate the handover word ("cocaine" in this case), then leave your own word for the next poster...
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steve44uk
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punica granatum
Dave was momentarily flummoxed when the lady he was serving at the fruit stall asked him for "a couple of those punica granatum." He worked on the adjacent stall selling mainly cheap jeans and t-shirts, and was only covering his buddy's pitch while he took a short break.
The silence, framed by his blank, slightly panicked stare, was broken by the pretty blonde. "It's ah... those ones..." She pointed, a slow, playful smile lighting up her face. God, her skin was so pale... The word 'alabaster' sprang unbidden into Dave's mind.
He realised with a sudden flush that he was still staring at her. "Oh, the pomegranates, you mean...? I'm uh... I'm sorry, I don't usually work here, I'm just covering..." Her amused smile leached the rest of his excuse away, leaving him foundering again.
"Uh-huh. Can I be cheeky and ask for that one..." Her long finger pointed out a perfectly ripe specimen. "Aaand... that one."
Beet-red and tongue-tied, he picked up her selections and put them carefully in a brown paper bag. Her "Thank you," was low and slightly husky, and as she placed the money in his hand, he could have sworn a little shock passed between them.
She walked over to a nearby bench, her slight sashay making her knee-length skirt sway appealingly. He couldn't stop watching as she sat down, took one of the fruits from her bag and began peeling it using her well-manicured thumbnails. Having laid bare the soft inner flesh, and popped several of the exposed arils into her mouth, she sucked fastidiously first on one thumb, then the other. Dave groaned involuntarily. His cock was like a hot lead bar inside his cut-price jeans, the dull throb of desire literally making his legs go weak.
His friend Andy reappeared. "Thanks, man, appreciate it..." He looked at Dave a little oddly when his friend remained motionless. "Umm, you wanna get back to your stall...?"
Dave shifted uncomfortably, his eyes still riveted to the woman's full red lips, stained now with the juices of her alfresco snack. "Umm... I'm OK here a minute." He wondered just how long he would need to stay behind the shield of the stall before he could decently go back to work...
muffins
Dave was momentarily flummoxed when the lady he was serving at the fruit stall asked him for "a couple of those punica granatum." He worked on the adjacent stall selling mainly cheap jeans and t-shirts, and was only covering his buddy's pitch while he took a short break.
The silence, framed by his blank, slightly panicked stare, was broken by the pretty blonde. "It's ah... those ones..." She pointed, a slow, playful smile lighting up her face. God, her skin was so pale... The word 'alabaster' sprang unbidden into Dave's mind.
He realised with a sudden flush that he was still staring at her. "Oh, the pomegranates, you mean...? I'm uh... I'm sorry, I don't usually work here, I'm just covering..." Her amused smile leached the rest of his excuse away, leaving him foundering again.
"Uh-huh. Can I be cheeky and ask for that one..." Her long finger pointed out a perfectly ripe specimen. "Aaand... that one."
Beet-red and tongue-tied, he picked up her selections and put them carefully in a brown paper bag. Her "Thank you," was low and slightly husky, and as she placed the money in his hand, he could have sworn a little shock passed between them.
She walked over to a nearby bench, her slight sashay making her knee-length skirt sway appealingly. He couldn't stop watching as she sat down, took one of the fruits from her bag and began peeling it using her well-manicured thumbnails. Having laid bare the soft inner flesh, and popped several of the exposed arils into her mouth, she sucked fastidiously first on one thumb, then the other. Dave groaned involuntarily. His cock was like a hot lead bar inside his cut-price jeans, the dull throb of desire literally making his legs go weak.
His friend Andy reappeared. "Thanks, man, appreciate it..." He looked at Dave a little oddly when his friend remained motionless. "Umm, you wanna get back to your stall...?"
Dave shifted uncomfortably, his eyes still riveted to the woman's full red lips, stained now with the juices of her alfresco snack. "Umm... I'm OK here a minute." He wondered just how long he would need to stay behind the shield of the stall before he could decently go back to work...
muffins
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steve44uk
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heartburn
They'd been on maybe half a dozen dates when Lucy had suggested shyly that Matt might want to come to her apartment for a meal and a movie. Since their first meeting at the monthly table-top sale in the community centre - they'd both spotted a second-hand copy of Sean Stewart's novel, Mockingbird, a diamond in the rough, buried among the Mills and Boon romances and the cheap SF paperbacks on the book stall - they'd just... clicked. Although he desperately wanted the book, he'd graciously allowed her hand to reach it first, and had dismissed her half-hearted attempts to let him have it instead. That act of gallantry alone had sent a thrill of attraction through her. She took the book, but made him write his number on the bookmark the stallholder had tucked inside it.
As she prepared the meal - lasagne, her tried and tested nuclear seduction option - she listened to Carly Simon on her iPod. 'Coming Around Again' came on just as she was popping the layered dish into the oven, and her quandary over what movie to watch was solved.
Matt arrived with a bottle of tempranillo and a nervous smile. The former soon put paid to the latter, and Lucy's lasagne wove its spell. She'd made a big fuss over what movie they would watch, teasing Matt with cryptic clues and even playing the Carly Simon track again over dinner.
Finally, she led him into the living room, her hands over his eyes as she manoeuvred him to the couch, carrying the remainder of their wine. She'd loaded the DVD before he arrived and hidden the box. He would only find out, she told him, giggling, when she pressed play on the remote. He'd never read any Nora Ephron, but he recognised Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson straight away. 'Heartburn' might have seemed to many an unusual choice for a first date movie, but the fact of the matter was that, by the time Nicholson and Streep ended up in bed after the wedding, Lucy and Matt were putting them to shame on the couch...
purse
They'd been on maybe half a dozen dates when Lucy had suggested shyly that Matt might want to come to her apartment for a meal and a movie. Since their first meeting at the monthly table-top sale in the community centre - they'd both spotted a second-hand copy of Sean Stewart's novel, Mockingbird, a diamond in the rough, buried among the Mills and Boon romances and the cheap SF paperbacks on the book stall - they'd just... clicked. Although he desperately wanted the book, he'd graciously allowed her hand to reach it first, and had dismissed her half-hearted attempts to let him have it instead. That act of gallantry alone had sent a thrill of attraction through her. She took the book, but made him write his number on the bookmark the stallholder had tucked inside it.
As she prepared the meal - lasagne, her tried and tested nuclear seduction option - she listened to Carly Simon on her iPod. 'Coming Around Again' came on just as she was popping the layered dish into the oven, and her quandary over what movie to watch was solved.
Matt arrived with a bottle of tempranillo and a nervous smile. The former soon put paid to the latter, and Lucy's lasagne wove its spell. She'd made a big fuss over what movie they would watch, teasing Matt with cryptic clues and even playing the Carly Simon track again over dinner.
Finally, she led him into the living room, her hands over his eyes as she manoeuvred him to the couch, carrying the remainder of their wine. She'd loaded the DVD before he arrived and hidden the box. He would only find out, she told him, giggling, when she pressed play on the remote. He'd never read any Nora Ephron, but he recognised Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson straight away. 'Heartburn' might have seemed to many an unusual choice for a first date movie, but the fact of the matter was that, by the time Nicholson and Streep ended up in bed after the wedding, Lucy and Matt were putting them to shame on the couch...
purse
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steve44uk
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berceuse
They lay together, spent, her head on his chest, his arm encircling her slight shoulders. She had, as she often did, swung her leg over his thigh, the pressure of her now-slick, swollen and sweetly tender pussy against the solid slab of muscle both intimate and reassuring.
They'd both had a rough day at work, but in that way that young lovers do (they were both pushing 50, but their love was only a few months old), they had found solace in each other. The vegetables for dinner sat, half-chopped, in the kitchen, abandoned when she'd slipped in behind him, put her arms round his waist and slowly, deliberately ran the palm of her hand over the bulge in his work trousers.
Their lovemaking had been sweet. Slow. Both intent on erasing the cares of the day by immersing themselves in the other's pleasure. They'd teased and tormented one another, each moan, each sigh, each sudden intake of breath pushing the outside world further away, until there was only them...
When they had finally coupled, it was over quickly - their loveplay saw to that - but tender. Oh, so tender...
Yet still she couldn't sleep. So, fighting off the satiated drowsiness that threatened to take him from her, he sang.
The first night they'd made love, all frantic and greedy, on his couch, he'd had a James Taylor CD playing on repeat - she'd teased him earlier about his refusal to join the iPod generation. They'd talked afterwards for hours, neither one wanting sleep to cut short their new-found intimacy. But, finally, the sweet berceuse of Isn't It Nice to Be Home Again, accompanied by the soothing lub-dub of his heartbeat in her ear, had sent her off.
And so it was tonight, his deep voice resonating in his chest, only slightly off-key, lulling her into a contented, dreamless slumber.
hood
They lay together, spent, her head on his chest, his arm encircling her slight shoulders. She had, as she often did, swung her leg over his thigh, the pressure of her now-slick, swollen and sweetly tender pussy against the solid slab of muscle both intimate and reassuring.
They'd both had a rough day at work, but in that way that young lovers do (they were both pushing 50, but their love was only a few months old), they had found solace in each other. The vegetables for dinner sat, half-chopped, in the kitchen, abandoned when she'd slipped in behind him, put her arms round his waist and slowly, deliberately ran the palm of her hand over the bulge in his work trousers.
Their lovemaking had been sweet. Slow. Both intent on erasing the cares of the day by immersing themselves in the other's pleasure. They'd teased and tormented one another, each moan, each sigh, each sudden intake of breath pushing the outside world further away, until there was only them...
When they had finally coupled, it was over quickly - their loveplay saw to that - but tender. Oh, so tender...
Yet still she couldn't sleep. So, fighting off the satiated drowsiness that threatened to take him from her, he sang.
The first night they'd made love, all frantic and greedy, on his couch, he'd had a James Taylor CD playing on repeat - she'd teased him earlier about his refusal to join the iPod generation. They'd talked afterwards for hours, neither one wanting sleep to cut short their new-found intimacy. But, finally, the sweet berceuse of Isn't It Nice to Be Home Again, accompanied by the soothing lub-dub of his heartbeat in her ear, had sent her off.
And so it was tonight, his deep voice resonating in his chest, only slightly off-key, lulling her into a contented, dreamless slumber.
hood
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steve44uk
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lashes
Long after she'd slipped into a deep, sated sleep, he lay, his head propped on his crooked arm, watching her. Her eyes, recently hungry, almost feral as he thrust into her, were now closed, her long, fair, silky lashes almost invisible against her pale skin.
Beneath their lids, her eyes darted back and forth, and he wondered just what stuff her dreams were made on. Was she recalling their recent lovemaking, the way his grinding hips plumbed her depths until she bit his shoulder, so lost in her pleasure was she?
Was that the ghost of a smile, playing on her lips? Maybe she was replaying the way she'd made him squirm, her teeth grazing the sensitive rim of his cockhead, the thrilling hint of danger making the sensations all the more exquisite...
But when her hips shifted, rocking gently upwards, perhaps, to meet her dream lover, he couldn't resist slipping his hand down to cup her mound, strong fingers pressing open her still-wet lips.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled lazily...
cowgirl
Long after she'd slipped into a deep, sated sleep, he lay, his head propped on his crooked arm, watching her. Her eyes, recently hungry, almost feral as he thrust into her, were now closed, her long, fair, silky lashes almost invisible against her pale skin.
Beneath their lids, her eyes darted back and forth, and he wondered just what stuff her dreams were made on. Was she recalling their recent lovemaking, the way his grinding hips plumbed her depths until she bit his shoulder, so lost in her pleasure was she?
Was that the ghost of a smile, playing on her lips? Maybe she was replaying the way she'd made him squirm, her teeth grazing the sensitive rim of his cockhead, the thrilling hint of danger making the sensations all the more exquisite...
But when her hips shifted, rocking gently upwards, perhaps, to meet her dream lover, he couldn't resist slipping his hand down to cup her mound, strong fingers pressing open her still-wet lips.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled lazily...
cowgirl
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He sat on the edge of the bed, raptly watching her nightly routine. He’d told her in the past that he didn’t care if she came to bed with her makeup on. She’d laughed and said that he’d be singing a different song in the morning.
Truth be told, he kind of liked watching her, knowing that she considered washing her face before bed to be part of taking care of herself. It didn’t take that long and there was something peaceful in the way she moved while standing over the bathroom sink.
They’d been to a party, so he knew she was teasing him just a little. Her hips were constantly swaying, which was normal, but that night it was gently keeping that goofy fringe at the hem of her short skirt dancing. That, and her boots, were all she was wearing.
Walking out of the bathroom, she put her hat back on and grinned widely. She waved for him to scoot back on the bed just a bit, then stood before him, her hips still moving to their private soundtrack.
“I never knew you’d wanted to be a cowgirl,” he choked through a suddenly dry throat.
Her smile softened. “No?” she murmured, climbing onto the bed and kneeling over him, straddling his lap. “Let me show you how much.”
She reached down and encircled his eager cock with a warm hand, guiding it to her wet center. “I’ve always loved to ride,” she breathed into his ear.
aloft
Truth be told, he kind of liked watching her, knowing that she considered washing her face before bed to be part of taking care of herself. It didn’t take that long and there was something peaceful in the way she moved while standing over the bathroom sink.
They’d been to a party, so he knew she was teasing him just a little. Her hips were constantly swaying, which was normal, but that night it was gently keeping that goofy fringe at the hem of her short skirt dancing. That, and her boots, were all she was wearing.
Walking out of the bathroom, she put her hat back on and grinned widely. She waved for him to scoot back on the bed just a bit, then stood before him, her hips still moving to their private soundtrack.
“I never knew you’d wanted to be a cowgirl,” he choked through a suddenly dry throat.
Her smile softened. “No?” she murmured, climbing onto the bed and kneeling over him, straddling his lap. “Let me show you how much.”
She reached down and encircled his eager cock with a warm hand, guiding it to her wet center. “I’ve always loved to ride,” she breathed into his ear.
aloft
steve44uk
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aloft
He phoned when he knew he was going to have to work late.
"Hey, you..."
He could hear the smile in her voice as she realised it was him. "Hi, baby. I was just about to start dinner. Jumbalaya..." He groaned inwardly. Bad enough he was ruining their evening, but missing his favourite dish just added insult to injury.
"Honey, I'm so sorry. I've got to get this report finished. Boss'll have my hide if it's not in his inbox first thing..."
The disappointment in her voice cut through him. "Oh. OK..." She rallied, her consideration twisting the knife of his guilt a little more. "Never mind, honey. We can have it tomorrow. I'll get something out of the freezer. Are you going to get something to eat there?"
"Yeah, I'll order in. Pizza, maybe. I can eat and type at the same time, I think. Look, sweetie, I'm really sorry..."
"Baby, don't worry. Can't be helped. I'm fine." She paused. "To Have and Have Not's on TCM in a little while. I can watch that, then get an early night."
Despite feeling bad, he smiled. That was one of their favourite movies. They watched it together on one of their first dates. She liked that Bogey's character and he shared the same name. His expression softened as recalled how that evening had played out...
His voice was playful as he quoted the old drunk's oft-repeated line. "Say, was you ever bit by a dead bee?" The resulting giggle made him feel slightly better.
When she'd stopped chuckling, her tone was mock stern. "OK, go. Write the damn' report. Sooner you start, the sooner you can come home and make it up to me."
They said their goodbyes, and he ended the call with a sigh, his tired eyes fixing on the monitor of his PC.
Almost four hours later, he quietly closed the apartment door. The living room lights were off, only a soft glow from the bedroom door lighting his way as he locked up, hung up his coat and went to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Drinking deep, he walked softly to their room, expecting her to be fast asleep.
Instead, she was lying on the bed, wearing nothing but a smile and his favourite t-shirt, the one that said "Zombie. Eat flesh" in the Subway livery. As he entered the room, the smile spread to a lascivious grin on her pretty face.
"I'm hard to get, Steve. All you have to do is ask me..." she quipped. And as he grinned in return, she lifted her leg aloft, the long, smooth line unfolding from the knee, her painted toes pointing to the ceiling in a move that was both balletic and incredibly arousing. He glimpsed her neat lips, nestled in the silky fur that, suddenly, he desperately wanted to feel tickling his face.
"Now c'mere, Buster. Work's not done yet..."
cummerbund
He phoned when he knew he was going to have to work late.
"Hey, you..."
He could hear the smile in her voice as she realised it was him. "Hi, baby. I was just about to start dinner. Jumbalaya..." He groaned inwardly. Bad enough he was ruining their evening, but missing his favourite dish just added insult to injury.
"Honey, I'm so sorry. I've got to get this report finished. Boss'll have my hide if it's not in his inbox first thing..."
The disappointment in her voice cut through him. "Oh. OK..." She rallied, her consideration twisting the knife of his guilt a little more. "Never mind, honey. We can have it tomorrow. I'll get something out of the freezer. Are you going to get something to eat there?"
"Yeah, I'll order in. Pizza, maybe. I can eat and type at the same time, I think. Look, sweetie, I'm really sorry..."
"Baby, don't worry. Can't be helped. I'm fine." She paused. "To Have and Have Not's on TCM in a little while. I can watch that, then get an early night."
Despite feeling bad, he smiled. That was one of their favourite movies. They watched it together on one of their first dates. She liked that Bogey's character and he shared the same name. His expression softened as recalled how that evening had played out...
His voice was playful as he quoted the old drunk's oft-repeated line. "Say, was you ever bit by a dead bee?" The resulting giggle made him feel slightly better.
When she'd stopped chuckling, her tone was mock stern. "OK, go. Write the damn' report. Sooner you start, the sooner you can come home and make it up to me."
They said their goodbyes, and he ended the call with a sigh, his tired eyes fixing on the monitor of his PC.
Almost four hours later, he quietly closed the apartment door. The living room lights were off, only a soft glow from the bedroom door lighting his way as he locked up, hung up his coat and went to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Drinking deep, he walked softly to their room, expecting her to be fast asleep.
Instead, she was lying on the bed, wearing nothing but a smile and his favourite t-shirt, the one that said "Zombie. Eat flesh" in the Subway livery. As he entered the room, the smile spread to a lascivious grin on her pretty face.
"I'm hard to get, Steve. All you have to do is ask me..." she quipped. And as he grinned in return, she lifted her leg aloft, the long, smooth line unfolding from the knee, her painted toes pointing to the ceiling in a move that was both balletic and incredibly arousing. He glimpsed her neat lips, nestled in the silky fur that, suddenly, he desperately wanted to feel tickling his face.
"Now c'mere, Buster. Work's not done yet..."
cummerbund
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runningonblade
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 6, 2012
- Posts
- 2,312
The Day Of The Wedding
cummerbund
Mark walked into his hotel room on the day of the wedding with his tuxedo on and saw a beautiful babe with dark brown hair laying naked on the bed with her legs wide open.
"Hi, Mark. Are you surprised to see me again?", asked the smiling babe before Mark removed his cummerbund and answered, "Well, Wendy. Let me put it to you this way."
And after he placed his cummerbund over her eyes, Mark took off his clothes and rubbed on his penis before he got into bed with Wendy and started sucking her tits and pumping his fingers into her vagina.
"Oh, God! Yes! Just like when we were in college! Please, Mark! Don't stop now!", said the blindfolded Wendy just before he laid himself on top of her and allowed his former lover to suck his dick while he was doing the same with her snatch.
Then, after he gave her a hard fuck in the ass, Mark placed his hands on Wendy's arms and started fucking her hard in the pussy which forced her to grab hold of his butt and let out such a loud scream.
After that, the two reunited lovers stopped what they were doing just in time for Mark to take his cummerbund off of Wendy's eyes and said, "It's great to see you again, Wendy. You always are such a fantastic fuck."
"It's also good to see you, Mark. But I do believe that now would be a good time for us to get to the wedding before we're missed.", said Wendy before both she and Mark got out of bed and gone into the bathroom to take a shower.
At the wedding, Mark was standing next to his best friend who happens to be the groom and making sure that his cummerbund was on straight because he was the best man and wanted to make a good impression.
That was before the organ player started playing the song 'Here Comes The Bride' and Mark saw Wendy walking towards the altar in a white wedding gown before she looked at the guy and smiled as if to say, "Thanks for letting me enjoy one last moment of freedom as a single woman."
comet
cummerbund
Mark walked into his hotel room on the day of the wedding with his tuxedo on and saw a beautiful babe with dark brown hair laying naked on the bed with her legs wide open.
"Hi, Mark. Are you surprised to see me again?", asked the smiling babe before Mark removed his cummerbund and answered, "Well, Wendy. Let me put it to you this way."
And after he placed his cummerbund over her eyes, Mark took off his clothes and rubbed on his penis before he got into bed with Wendy and started sucking her tits and pumping his fingers into her vagina.
"Oh, God! Yes! Just like when we were in college! Please, Mark! Don't stop now!", said the blindfolded Wendy just before he laid himself on top of her and allowed his former lover to suck his dick while he was doing the same with her snatch.
Then, after he gave her a hard fuck in the ass, Mark placed his hands on Wendy's arms and started fucking her hard in the pussy which forced her to grab hold of his butt and let out such a loud scream.
After that, the two reunited lovers stopped what they were doing just in time for Mark to take his cummerbund off of Wendy's eyes and said, "It's great to see you again, Wendy. You always are such a fantastic fuck."
"It's also good to see you, Mark. But I do believe that now would be a good time for us to get to the wedding before we're missed.", said Wendy before both she and Mark got out of bed and gone into the bathroom to take a shower.
At the wedding, Mark was standing next to his best friend who happens to be the groom and making sure that his cummerbund was on straight because he was the best man and wanted to make a good impression.
That was before the organ player started playing the song 'Here Comes The Bride' and Mark saw Wendy walking towards the altar in a white wedding gown before she looked at the guy and smiled as if to say, "Thanks for letting me enjoy one last moment of freedom as a single woman."
comet
Beth87
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 26, 2010
- Posts
- 6,981
COMET
"Comet, the hottest ride in the universe," it said, the shiny, cheap packaging still visible in her eye-line. There weren't many glamorous moments being the sex editor for a national magazine. Seedy parties and equally seedy toys.
"We'll see shall we?" she muttered and spread her legs over the black mount.
POMPOUS
"Comet, the hottest ride in the universe," it said, the shiny, cheap packaging still visible in her eye-line. There weren't many glamorous moments being the sex editor for a national magazine. Seedy parties and equally seedy toys.
"We'll see shall we?" she muttered and spread her legs over the black mount.
POMPOUS
runningonblade
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 6, 2012
- Posts
- 2,312
A Star Trek Experience
imagination
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AToGJbhULlk/UYxsmryVobI/AAAAAAAAN4M/A_3sSCABg6w/s1600/uhura39.jpg
You know, whenever I let myself watch the original Star Trek TV series, I just can't stop myself from using my imagination every time I get a look at Nichelle Nichols as Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, communications officer of the starship Enterprise.
For instance, I remember this one episode in which a transporter mishap slips Captain James T. Kirk and his companions into a parallel universe where the Enterprise serves a barbaric empire instead of the United Federation of Planets.
Anyway, when she got herself accidentally placed aboard the parallel Enterprise along with Kirk, McCoy and Scott, she was wearing this smoking hot version of her Starfleet uniform just like every female crew member of that ship which included Lieutenant Marlena Moreau, who allowed herself to be known as the 'Captain's Woman'.
After that episode was over, I turned off the TV, gone into the bathroom and started taking a shower.
And while the water was spraying down on me and I was rubbing soap all over, I suddenly saw both Nyota and Marlena, who were also naked and in the shower with me and kissing and gently caressing each other instead of getting into one hell of a nasty catfight.
But that was before I cleared my throat and made them look at me and notice what a fantastic bod I had.
"Well, since we happen to be in the same shower together, the least you could do is... join us.", said Nyota before she kneeled down and started sucking on my suddenly large dick while Marlena placed her hand on my chest and said, "Yes. Please do join us. And don't worry. We won't bite."
And while she was kissing me on the lips, Marlena took Nyota by the arm and lifted her up just in time to spin her around and allow me to grab her tits and give her a hard fucking in the ass while she was fondling Marlena's breasts and sucking on her moist snatch.
That was before I took my cock out of Nyota's butt and started to give Marlena's soaking wet pussy the same hard fucking.
And while I was doing that, Nyota placed herself on Marlena's face and gave her to suck that rich chocolate cunt while I was doing the same thing to Nyota's massive mounds.
But just as we were about to cum, the phone began to ring and snapped me out of that little hot and steamy daydream to see that I really was alone in the shower.
And in case you still are wondering who made that phone call, it was my best friend from work who wanted to invite me to go with him to the annual Star Trek convention, only to have me smile and say, "Thanks. But no thanks. I already have enough of a Star Trek experience for a while."
comic book convention
imagination
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AToGJbhULlk/UYxsmryVobI/AAAAAAAAN4M/A_3sSCABg6w/s1600/uhura39.jpg
You know, whenever I let myself watch the original Star Trek TV series, I just can't stop myself from using my imagination every time I get a look at Nichelle Nichols as Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, communications officer of the starship Enterprise.
For instance, I remember this one episode in which a transporter mishap slips Captain James T. Kirk and his companions into a parallel universe where the Enterprise serves a barbaric empire instead of the United Federation of Planets.
Anyway, when she got herself accidentally placed aboard the parallel Enterprise along with Kirk, McCoy and Scott, she was wearing this smoking hot version of her Starfleet uniform just like every female crew member of that ship which included Lieutenant Marlena Moreau, who allowed herself to be known as the 'Captain's Woman'.
After that episode was over, I turned off the TV, gone into the bathroom and started taking a shower.
And while the water was spraying down on me and I was rubbing soap all over, I suddenly saw both Nyota and Marlena, who were also naked and in the shower with me and kissing and gently caressing each other instead of getting into one hell of a nasty catfight.
But that was before I cleared my throat and made them look at me and notice what a fantastic bod I had.
"Well, since we happen to be in the same shower together, the least you could do is... join us.", said Nyota before she kneeled down and started sucking on my suddenly large dick while Marlena placed her hand on my chest and said, "Yes. Please do join us. And don't worry. We won't bite."
And while she was kissing me on the lips, Marlena took Nyota by the arm and lifted her up just in time to spin her around and allow me to grab her tits and give her a hard fucking in the ass while she was fondling Marlena's breasts and sucking on her moist snatch.
That was before I took my cock out of Nyota's butt and started to give Marlena's soaking wet pussy the same hard fucking.
And while I was doing that, Nyota placed herself on Marlena's face and gave her to suck that rich chocolate cunt while I was doing the same thing to Nyota's massive mounds.
But just as we were about to cum, the phone began to ring and snapped me out of that little hot and steamy daydream to see that I really was alone in the shower.
And in case you still are wondering who made that phone call, it was my best friend from work who wanted to invite me to go with him to the annual Star Trek convention, only to have me smile and say, "Thanks. But no thanks. I already have enough of a Star Trek experience for a while."
comic book convention
steve44uk
Baleful
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2010
- Posts
- 4,128
comic book convention
They met at a comic book convention. She'd come dressed as Wonder Woman, he as Green Arrow.
By the final panel, her wristbands chinking as she clutched at his head while he enthusiastically lapped at her (surprisingly blonde-furred) pussy in the cramped toilet cubicle, she'd come, dressed as Wonder Woman.
flamingo
They met at a comic book convention. She'd come dressed as Wonder Woman, he as Green Arrow.
By the final panel, her wristbands chinking as she clutched at his head while he enthusiastically lapped at her (surprisingly blonde-furred) pussy in the cramped toilet cubicle, she'd come, dressed as Wonder Woman.
flamingo
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