COUPLE LOOKING FOR PMs

[davenjenn]

Hi everyone . . .

My husband, Dave, and I have been married for five years and our secret vow from the start was that we would never let our marriage get stale.

We're not exactly swingers, but we do have a open marriage. I am in advertising and travel a few times a year for my job. I am the very model of prim and proper at the office, but when I am away I sometimes get a little wild and take a lover for a night or two. Dave and I have very strict rules though. If I sleep with someone else, I have to tell him about it in great detail when I return from the trip.

Sometimes we play little sex games; like I will call him after an encounter and tell him exactly what went on. Just to be clear, I am not wildly promiscuous. I probably make love to strangers like this once or twice a year. Usually, I just pick some nice guy at the bar and take him back to my hotel room. Most often they are older guys, but I made love with a really gorgeous waiter at a restaurant once during a trip to San Francisco. My most daring exploit was letting the guy next to me on the planer finger me on the way back from a trip to Europe.

And just to be clear also, Dave isn't the wimpy cuckold type. In that little bookshop that he owns, he gets plenty of female customers who are ready, willing and able for a discrete affair. But again the rules are the same. He has to tell me all about it. I like hearing his stories and once or twice have suggested or even chosen lovers for him. He tends to go for the intellectual type; either grad students or older women in their 40s (often married.)

It’s fun. It spices up our love life. Truth is, though, an occasional lover is about the limit for us in the real world, but we’re very open to “imaginary” adventures. So, we thought it would be really nice if we got a few love letters from you writers out there telling us about your feelings, thoughts and plans after some imagined encounter with either Dave or me. (We are strictly heterosexual by the way.) We would be happy to reply to the best of them by PM (we are only open to PM-ing) and maybe open up a fantasy correspondence. That would be a great turn on for us and hopefully for you too.

I am about 5' 5" and around 120 lbs. I am a conservative dresser and like to wear skirts and blouses a lot. I am not really a jeans sort of girl. I have shortish blonde hair and I am in my thirties. Dave is around 6' or so. I am not sure what he weighs, but he is certainly not overweight.

PLEASE respond by PM to us. And PLEASE DON'T respond with just one or two lines. Dave and I are looking for letters, at least a few paras in length. We really want to cum reading what you guys have to say.

Jennifer

 

[davenjenn]

Bumpp

 

[Shimp]

I will give you two a bump, but can not respond now...too much work in front of me. Happy Sunday.

 

[davenjenn]

Bummp

 

[mikeosafunguy]

hey hows it going you sound like quite the pair would you like to chat a bit and have some fun

 

[davenjenn]

hey hows it going you sound like quite the pair would you like to chat a bit and have some fun

See our original posting for what we are looking for -- D + J

 

[RyanBlack]

Lyrica is not sure how this day led her here.
This morning started so well; she had stopped at her coffee place where she went each day, and the cute baker had just taken some chocolate chip muffins out of the oven and given her one. It was such a delicious start to her day. She imagined what her yummy baker would look like in nothing but his white cotton apron and a hmmmmmmmmmm of savored pleasure escaped her lips as she let the warm fresh muffin full of rich dark chocolate melt across her tongue; the sound as much for his form, his smile and those hands as it was for his talent in his kitchen.
. . . It wasn’t five minutes later still savoring the afterglow of the fresh baked treat and strong coffee that her cell phone rang and her day went to hell.
This had been one of the most exhausting Fridays in her life. Her so-called friends aren’t here yet. Standing outside the bar waiting for them after they wore her down and she finally agreed to meet them here for drinks and gossip was really starting to wear on her patience which had already reached its frayed ends from the drama and difficulties and delays at work.
She has been standing in front of this bar for the last 23 minutes. The entrance is a stockyard holding pen, with the next victims all lined up or milling around waiting to go in to slaughter; she doesn’t even want to find out how bad it will be inside. Lyrica sighs to herself, a typical Friday night. If she had only not promised to meet them then she would be home. “Yes”, she thought to herself, “home soaking in a nice hot bath”. Instead, here she is; patiently waiting for the girls in front of the latest fad meat market, a few stubborn strands of her hair whisping down the sides of her face despite her repeated attempts to brush it back with distracted hands or blow it off her cheeks and forehead, standing alone on her aching feet.
As much as Lyrica hates the idea of walking into the bar alone, she glances around once more to make sure she hasn’t missed them, and then slowly turns and with the weight of her crappy day on her shoulders, she heads into the Lion’s Den.
Lyrica moves slowly through the crowd near the center of the bar in front of the dance floor which looks more like the adult version of the Olympic floor exercises where the participants are scored on the degree of foreplay instead of “degree of difficulty”.
She barely avoids those "accidental" brushes against her body before she pauses and scans the crowd hoping to see a friend or even a familiar acquaintance with whom she can share a moment’s respite from the empty familiarity of the crowd; someone to share a moments anonymity with.
“Nope”, she sighs to herself once more, “no friendly faces here”. She takes another glance towards the bar area and resigns herself to venturing towards the back where she hopes one of her friends has shown up early and has been kind enough to hold a table for them. She needs to sit down and rest, her feet killing her.
Once again she navigates through a gauntlet of “accidental” groping and sloshing drinks until she arrives a few minutes later at the tables. She scans the surrounding area but does not see her friends.
She wants to scream. All the seats and tables are taken. She glances down at the nearest table. Five guys sit on some very comfortable looking chairs clustered around a waist high table. She could be sitting in one of those chairs with her shoes off. She glances at her watch.
They're nearly half an hour late, she thinks to herself. Lyrica takes another look at the guys; they are talking very loudly at one another. She can easily understand why they are, the music is loud, but the racket of people talking is a runaway train careening through the room from group to group unable to contain the escalating volume and frequently inches from derailing. Still, it isn’t unique, considering it is Friday night at a bar in the city. She cannot hear the conversational nuances from the men, but from the body language and smiles, they're all friends. She wishes her friends were here and she was sitting down with them venting her day, her week, her month, hell, truth be told venting her life!
She reaches down to steady herself against the back of one of the guy’s chairs, as she kicks off her left shoe and lifts her leg up to massage the ache in her feet and calf.
He notices her reaching down towards his friend’s chair. At first he thinks she’s going to tap him on the shoulder, but then he sees her kick off her shoe and lean over to touch her foot. It’s difficult to hold back from his normal male tendency for his eyes to be drawn to her cleavage; instead he gets up, walks around the table and approaches her, not wanting to startle the obviously already tired woman he reaches out and touches her shoulder with a slight tap from one finger, wondering if she will recognize him.
She looks up as she feels a tap on her shoulder and sees him smiling at her. At first she thinks he is staring at her chest but realizes that he isn't, that his eyes aren’t roaming her up and down assessing potential prey; they meet hers, and the smile on his lips reaches all the way to his eyes and he is somehow familiar, but she cant quite put her finger on why.
She can see his lips moving but can’t quite make out what he is saying.
"What?" she loudly asks.
"Sorry," he replies loudly. "Would you like to take my chair?"
She shakes her head and says, "Thanks, but I'm waiting on some friends."
He laughs and says, "Well, I hope they bring a stretcher because it looks like you're about to drop."
She smiles shyly at him but offers no response which would encourage further conversation. She is not here to meet a guy, which is the last thing she wants to deal with today “another oblivious guy who wants something from her without noticing much beyond her legs or her blouse” she thinks quickly; the thought cruises through her mind without her even consciously driving it.
"Then let me ask you a favor," he interrupts the search for the girls.
She nods without committing to anything, ready for “the line.”
"Could you hold my chair? I find it necessary for the sake of personal pride to use the little boys' room before I make a mess."
She smiles and slides the shoe back onto her foot. “That isn’t much of a “line”” she says to him as she returns her eyes to his face. She looks up and sees him holding his hand out for her hand; it is such an unexpected gesture, she is stopped for a moment, unsure what to do. In the end, she takes it, and immediately asks inwardly “why did you do that” and is surprised at how strong and soft his hand feels gently holding hers.
He guides her towards his seat, for a few seconds in total control of her movements. Lyrica sits in the chair as he waits with a simple smile on his charming face. He leans over the table, and in an unusually quiet voice that somehow cuts through the background noise: "Guys, entertain this lovely lady for a few minutes and behave yourselves or you’re walkin’ home. I’ll be right back." And with a glance he somehow insures their compliance with his claim.
Ryan did not really need to use the rest room. He could have waited, but she looked like she could use a break. He noticed her when she walked by. She seemed to have been looking for someone. His first thought was that she had been stood up. He could hardly believe that could be true, but still, anything was possible these days. When he saw her rubbing her feet, he felt sorry for her. So he decided to do what any guy would do, or at least ought to do.
He made it to the restroom and discovered, a frown forming on his forehead, that there was a line extending outside the door. “There’s a line.” “How strange it is to find a line to the men's room.” Shrugging to himself, he resigns to waiting, all of a sudden finding that his urge is more urgent than he thought now that he has decided to do something about it. A few minutes later, he knows why there’s a line. Someone has had a little too much to drink and is sprawled out on the floor passed out. A few people, he assumes bar employees, are attempting to revive the guy with small slaps against his cheeks and shrugs of his shoulder. Everyone else is going about their business in the restroom.
He dries his hands after washing them and heads back towards the table. It seems to have gotten even more crowded and loud, he decides as he struggles past some people avoiding inadvertently brushing against a few of the ladies. He finds himself nearly having to shout “excuse me” to a couple of them as he passes by.
He sees Lyrica is now talking among his friends happily. He walks up to the spot next to her and stands there admiring her hair.
She feels him as he draws near behind her and starts to get up but finds his hand on her shoulder. She looks up.
"It's okay, you can stay."
"No, I should go see if my friends are waiting for me outside," she says.
"Why don't you just give them a call? You can use my cell," he says as reaches for his cell phone.
"It's okay, I have one.,” she answers, pulling her own cell phone from her purse. "Thanks." She smiles at him and finds herself sitting back down. “I’m only staying here because my feet are so sore and I feel exhausted” Lyrica reassures herself.
She looks at her phone and sees that she has a message. She dials the number to retrieve her message as she picks up the drink, the second glass of the night already—the first had gone too quickly. She smiles as she takes a sip. The guys had insisted on getting her a drink. She had so needed a drink and decided to indulge. It is nice to have a group of guys pay her this much attention and do so in such a nice fashion instead of a “hoping to get some,” or with “expectations”. She has told them about her job and her day in the time that he was away, and strangely, they actually seemed to listen sympathetically. She puts her drink down as the voice mail plays.
He glances at her when she shoves the phone into her purse, a crease forming between her eyes, her frustration obvious.
Leaning over, he asks, "Was that your friends?"
He waits as she takes another sip of her drink. He sees her wipe her lip with a napkin and turn towards him.
"Yes, seems they're running a lot later than I had thought."
He nods and continues, “how long will they be?"
"We were going to meet here then head over to another place where another friend of ours is performing tonite." She shrugs.
Nodding again, he asks, "So you're not going to meet your friends here?"
"No. We're going to meet at the lounge."
She sees him nod; a little frown tugs at the edge of his lips.
"OH!" she says, "I should let you have this seat back!"
He laughs and says, "No, its okay. Keep the seat. I'm sure none of the guys would like me if I kicked you out."
She looks around the table and sees the guys looking in their direction. She isn't sure if they could hear; even she found it a little difficult hearing what he was saying.
He can see her tilting her head towards him, to hear what he is saying. He places his hands on the backs of her chair and the chair of a friend on the other side. He lowers himself onto his knees.
"When are you going to meet your friends?" he says, leaning closer to her ear so she can hear better.
"We're going to meet later,” she says as she looks at her watch. "In about an hour and a half is when I have to leave if I want to get there in time." “What is it about him that is so familiar? “She continues to wonder.
"Oh good, so you're staying with us until then?" he asks with what he feels is his best disarming smile.
"It is the least I can do for the gentleman who gave up his seat to a lady in distress!"
He looks at her a bit confused and glances around.
"What?" she asks.
"A gentleman?" he asks in return. "Where do you see one of those?"
As she takes another sip of her drink, she points at him.
"Oh," he says, "you are sorely mistaken ma’am.” “I am no gentleman."
She laughs.
He stops her by continuing, "I am a modern man. That makes me a naughty, dirty snob who knows nothing of gentleness even if it came up and bit me in the backside. Grrrr!" he growls quickly afterwards with another one of those distracting smiles and a slight dance of his eyebrows in mock innuendo.
She laughs. At first she is not sure if it’s the drinks or how easy she feels with him. She has not noticed him staring at her legs or her breasts. Whenever he turns to talk with her, his eyes seem only to look into her eyes. Perhaps that is why she is laughing. He is not what he is describing himself to be. He seems to be teasing her.
"Oh, I do not think so," she responds deciding to take the bait and push him towards a more open engagement. Parts of her hopes he will openly “hit on her” or even make a subtle pass now, even though that is the last thing she came here for. She is ready to exchange names or even numbers and . . . “Sheesh, girl he is a complete stranger, and he is standing there teasing you” she chides herself. Still, there is something so familiar and nice about him.
"Well, here is proof," he says and makes a grand gesture of showing his current position and then showing the others including her as being in seats.
"How does that make you not a gentleman? You did, after all, give up your seat!" she says.
"I had to use the little boys' room!" He rolls his eyes.
She laughs and continues, "You refused to take back the seat when I was going to give it up."
"How else was I going to stare down your blouse?" he says as he widens his eyes and commences an exaggerated stare at her chest.
"You have not!" she says, "and besides, you can't see my boobs from where you're kneeling."
"This is so I can see your legs." He glances around and leans in closer to say, "Also, I would be able to touch them!"
He grins and winks at her. And again he makes as if he is looking around to see if anyone saw him. “He is a tease!” she says to herself.
She laughs at him openly again and says, "You're not the type and besides, if you were -- you would have done it already instead of telling me." Now her thoughts are designed to provoke him to come for her—though again she is surprised at her behavior. “You are not here to meet a guy—even if he is charming and nice and. . . .” she inwardly raises her voice to herself.
With that, she takes her glass and lifts it towards him in a salute, claiming a point in their silly debate over his manners.
Grinning, he raises one finger above her tilting glass so she sees it. Then he slowly lowers it as her eyes follow his moving finger.
Lyrica watches him lowering his finger. She refuses to fall for his bluff. In a way, she wonders what he is going to do with one finger. Lyrica watches as his finger drops below the table. She lowers her glass and looks at him with a satisfied smile. She knew he would not. Then she feels it. His finger touches her thigh.
She would’ve spit out her drink if she weren’t already about done swallowing. Her eyes grow wide, but that was it. She’s relieved that it was just a tap. Relieved and . . . and . . . something, but she isn’t able to put her finger on it, not quite.
"See?" she says, finally trusting herself to respond to him.
"What?" he asks.
"You wouldn't dare!" she challenges him, both hoping he will “dare” and worried she will be disappointed if he doesn’t
He laughs. "That's what you say now, but after you leave I get to say I copped a feel of your leg and I won't be lying!"
She laughs, and suddenly moves across to the other side of the seat, making room on the chair. She gestures to him to come up and pats the space next to her.
"No really, it's okay, you stay sitting." Ryan smiles up at her, relieved that she did not take offense to his touching of her leg - a single tap, really.
"Silly boy, come share the seat with me." She pats on the space next to her one more time. She laughs again as she hears him mumbling about not being able to touch her leg anymore, but he starts to get up. She watches him as he gets up off his knees and carefully slides onto the seat.
He smiles at her, glad to have gotten off his knees. He reaches for his drink and takes a sip. He glances back at her when he sees a sudden movement coming from her direction.
She yelps or, as she would put it, “verbally reacts” to her sudden dip over the side of the chair. She feels his strong hand grip her arm as he steadies her and prevents a potentially embarrassing fall.
"Hey, I'm not that big" he deflects the blame to himself.
She laughs.
"Or is it that I'm that unpleasant, do I smell?"
She giggles much to her chagrin and says, "I didn't realize I was sitting that close to the edge” a bit shocked that she is suddenly flirting with this man, but she does realize that there is a smell to him—cinnamon and brown sugar and something sweet and . . . it is right on the tip of her tongue, but once again her overtired mind fails to recall.
She groans to herself. Well, at least she didn’t get dumped onto the ground.
"Mm-hm." she says as she readjusts herself onto her half of the seat.
"You want another drink?" he asks her, noticing her glass is almost empty.
She shakes her head and says, "I better not. I don't want to get too tipsy and start falling off chairs."
He nods seriously and takes another sip of his own.
"What are you drinking?" she asks him.
“Coke."
"No rum?" she asks a bit surprised.
"Nope," and then jerks a thumb at the other cup next to where his coke sits, "And a glass of ice water."
"So you're the designated driver?" she looks at him.
"No, I like to experience everything without any dulling of the senses," he replies with a wink.
"Why?" she asks, genuinely curious.
"As a hobby, I write. So I don’t drink when I plan on writing. That way I can clearly describe everything. So it will seem more realistic."
"What do you write?" she continues.
"What's with all the questions? You were just trying to get away from me, and now you want to interrogate me?" he continues to tease her with his smiling eyes.
She gasps and says, "I was not!"
He laughs.
She scoots closer to him on the seat and says, "Here."
Before he can say anything, he finds her right leg over his left leg.
"Now you get to touch my leg all you want and I won't seem like I'm running away."
The shock is evident on his face. He quickly glances around at his friends but none of them seem to have noticed. They’re still talking to one another, leaning closer to each other so they can hear over the noise of the bar.
She can’t believe what she just did. Maybe it was the drinks, but it is very satisfying to see the shocked look on his face when she did it. She leans closer to him to tease him some more wanting to get even for his teasing of her. Her right hand runs up her skirt to her leg and down along his thigh. She is slightly disappointed that she doesn’t feel anything. She pulls her hand away.
She looks around and the bar is not quite dark. But then again, the lights usually are dim. Dim to the point where she is amazed that anyone can see anything at all. She takes stock before considering her next course of action. They are sitting on those low seats, you can almost call them single seated love seats, but modern enough to show that the decorator was trying to show some sense of style.
She turns to look in front of her and the table is there. The tint of the glass doesn’t allow anyone any view of her leg over his leg. All around them, she can see all the people are talking, walking, drinking and some are even dancing, paying them no mind at all.
Leaning closer to him, she asks, "So what do you write?" thinking she has pushed the boundaries of her behavior and wanting to return the comfort of conversation.
He laughs once more and says, "You're not going to believe me. Either that or you'll run away repulsed."
She cannot imagine what he would say that would make that happen, so she shrugs and asks him again.
"Seriously, you can tell me. I promise not to run away repulsed!"
He glances at his friends then he lifts his hand over to the back of the chair and leans in. He moves close to her ear. Whispering, he says, "I write erotic fiction for a hobby."
"Really?" she says, turning to face him, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know men did that.”
He nods and smiles. He seems amused that she does not react negatively.
"Ever read any erotica?" he asks, still whispering into her ear.
She lifts the drink to her mouth to take another sip, not sure if she is all that ready to tell everything or anything so personal but wanting to. She nods slightly as she puts the glass down wondering why she admitted that.
"I wonder," he whispers closer to her ear, "I wonder if you've ever read any of my stuff."
She smiles, enjoying the sound of his voice whispering into her ear. She almost doesn’t really listen to his words while she is listening, but she realizes that he is waiting for an answer.
"I don't know. Tell me one of your stories."
He smiles and whispers, "I don't know." He glances around and whispers, "How about if I tell you what I'd write for you instead?"
Feeling nervous, but slightly excited at the thought of him teasing her through storytelling, and erotic story telling at that seems just about perfect. The current ambiance is definitely not the hot relaxing bath (which is where she liked to read the occasional erotic story) but she has let go enough for her to be willing to listen or maybe it was just the really long day has worn down her defenses. Either way, she relaxes her body as she leans back into the corner of the chair. Her leg draped across his lap lifts a little and moves slightly further up his leg.
His voice changes—that is the first thing she notices. It has been mid-range and nice, but now it becomes smooth and slightly deeper drawing her in and away from the distractions in the room and even the distractions in her mind. It is almost as if she is sitting in the hot bath soaking the cares away from her body just from listening to the soft baritone croon.
“She has had a rough day when she arrives at their apartment”; he whispers into her ear. “A note is on the counter where she sets her purse and keys. It says “Join me in the bath. She smiles and heads for the tub to find her man soaking in the bubbles holding out a glass of wine to her. She undresses and steps into the enveloping suds and leans back against his chest to relax her days away.” Lyrica can feel his arm around her as he whispers the story into her ear and briefly wonders if he is actually making the story up for her on the spot.
“the woman leans back and her man says “tell me about your day” and kisses the back of her neck”
She listens to him tell her how he would kiss her neck. She can feel a finger from the arm around the back of their chair touch the side of her neck, tracking a trail slowly. She can imagine his lips kissing her as he describes. She enjoys hearing him tell her how wonderful she smells. But before she can respond and let him know that she is not wearing perfume, she is surprised by his lips. They are soft and they barely touch her skin. She feels a tingle that she is intimately familiar with. She hears herself sigh with pleasure at the gentle touch. She opens her eyes, not realizing she had closed them as she savored the image in his story, to look around the table.
He pauses his kisses long enough to add: “he kisses up and down the back of her neck to the spot right behind her ear and listens to her sigh of contented arousal” and then continues the kisses smiling to himself at the real sigh they have evoked in her.
“Sliding around his strong arms around her one hand reaches to gently touch her thigh.”
She almost jumps as she feels his hand on her leg. She looks around once more to see if there is anyone looking in their direction. Her eyes close slowly as she feels his lips slowly move along the side of her neck. His lips move exactly along the line his finger moved. She can feel her head tilting to allow his lips more access to her neck. She follows his movement with her mind's eye as his lips slow and stops just below her ear.
“She feels the caress of the warm water and scented bubbles on her skin as he touches her skin. She is immersed in a warm glow of slow relaxed arousal. Her man smiles at how blessed he is to have such beauty in his arms to hold and appreciate.” “He wants her—but more than he wants her, he wants to please her, to seduce her senses, to touch her with his voice as well as his hands” “He wants her to wallow in the pleasure of nothing but his words and his touch until her day and all its distractions fade away into yesterdays memories.”
She is aware of the noise and the people around them fading away as the softness of his voice and the soft surety of his touch having been fully integrated into the story; she now follows wherever he is leading. She lets go. The sensation in her core grows in intensity slowly reaching a steady softly pulsing hum coursing from her ears and neck down her spine to the growing heat in her abdomen and between her thighs. She sighs with pleasure again.
“Her body flows against his as our couple merges into a single form of touch and response, of action and reaction no longer separate individuals but a whole—a joined pair of bodies merging into a flickering blaze growing from nearly exhausted embers of remembered passion.”
“His hand begins to trace a line from the mid point of her thing up to just inside her knee and circles gently there as he whispered to her how he would kiss her there—slowly tracing the contour of her skin and adding fuel to their growing fire.” “He tells her how enamored he is of her skin; a fabric of the finest silk could be no more perfect.” “Her man continues to trace the line of would be kisses along her inner thigh back down from her knee and drawing closer to the heat between her legs.”
His hand, touching her leg, moves along slowly. His fingers slowly circle as his hand moves from her knee to her inner thigh. He can hear her catch her breath as he describes how his lips and at times his tongue would move lightly along her inner thigh. He feels her leg move up his leg, spreading herself and allowing him easier access.
“She moves slightly allowing his touch to draw closer to her need.”
She smiles to herself, enjoying the sensation as his fingers move along her inner thigh towards her panties; and wonders if she realizes how much of the story he is writing and how much she is leading him to write with her responses.
She feels his finger following his words and reaching the silk of her panties. It is the gentlest of touches, not an insecure or fearful touch of a boys first attempt; rather it is the teasing touch of a man certain of his exploration, certain of his timing, and above all else certain of what he wants.
Which finger, she is not sure of, probably the middle – slowly moves in a circle. She imagines his tongue instead of his finger. She opens her eyes as he withdraws his touch from her.
She turns towards him with a questioning look on her face.
He smiles at her.
She watches him slip his middle finger into his glass of ice water without breaking his gaze. Her eyes follow his wet finger away from the cup and below the table towards her leg once more. She stares at the finger moving down under her skirt.
“
Then his wet finger begins to move again in slow, circular motions. She looks up into his eyes as he tells her how his wet tongue moves closer to her awaiting surprise.
She feels him lean closer to her and whisper into her ear how excited he is. She turns her face towards him. In an almost dreamlike state, she leans in to give him a light kiss.
Her hand touches his leg and slides down in between.
She feels his arousal plainly against the back of her hand, close to her leg. She adjusts her seating slightly by moving her leg a little more. If anyone were to look under the table, they would see her leg spread obviously with his hand reaching up into her skirt. She thinks this to herself and finds herself even more excited. She is not sure, but she believes she can almost feel his arousal against her leg.
His finger reaches the end of her leg, her upper inner thigh. His finger slides up towards her panties and then stops. His head pulls back slightly as she turns to look at him once more. She smiles shyly at him.
She watches for another couple of seconds, but turns her head slightly as she sees him leaning in to whisper into her ear. She shivers as she hears him describe how his tongue would taste her. She listens, willing every part of her to stay still, as he describes how his tongue would move. His finger slides lightly up along her naked pussy. She shivers again as he describes to her how his tongue would not linger but immediately slowly lick back down.
He whispers to her, continuing to tell her how his tongue would move against and along her. She notices that every time his whispery voice says, ‘lick', his finger slides up and then down again. She waits, feeling him moving his tongue slowly along her naked pussy. Again and again, his voice describes him licking. She does not know it but she moans. Her moan isn’t loud, but it is enough to send him a shiver.
As his finger moves lower, she can feel his finger slide between her pussy lips. She shivers and feels herself moving her hips slightly. She hears him whisper to her how wonderful it feels to slide his finger into her. Her excitement, evident in the form of wetness, allows his finger to move smoothly into her. She waits, feeling his finger sliding slowly into her. She hears him count one, two, three and four. Then he tells her to remember the count as his finger slides out - one, two, three, four. She leans back against the chair, partly against him. She moans again as she hears him tell her that he is going to continue to move his finger that slowly in and out of her until she cums.
His lips, so close to her ear, continue the count for her. His finger slides slowly in and he counts one, two, three, and four. Then his finger moves slowly out of her and he counts for her - one, two, three, and four. His finger continues to move like this, slowly and fully in and then out of her.
She can feel her body reacting to this slow movement. She opens her mouth and takes a deep breath. She hears him tell her not to move as his finger continues to move, sliding fully in and then out. She gasps as a second finger joins the first as his lips continue to count for her. She can feel her pussy spread wider with both fingers entering her. She feels his fingers slide fully into her.
She opens her mouth, maybe to moan or to ask him to move faster, but before she can even utter a sound - she hears him whisper to her that she should be quiet or someone will notice. She opens her eyes and look around. She leans her face against his face. She hears him continue to whisper his count slowly - one, two, three, four. She shivers as she feels herself wanting to move faster. She feels her body demanding that something move faster. She pushes her face against his face as his fingers continue to move. She hears herself tell him to move faster, that she needs him to move faster.
He tells her that he will not. He wants her to feel this slow moving of his fingers in and out of her. He describes to her how many people are around and how his words would describe to her how she is feeling with all these people around. They are so close and all it takes is one person glancing over.
With that, her eyes open and her head pulls slightly away from his head. She looks around again. She looks for anyone with their eyes on her, possibly catching her during this really personal and intimate moment. She shivers at the familiar feeling of the beginnings of an orgasm. She whispers to him, wanting in her aroused need to curse him for not moving faster. But he does not move faster. She sees him smile at her but continues to count slowly with the movement of his fingers - one, two, three, four going in; one, two, three, and four – coming back out. She leans forward slightly and her body moves. She whispers to him, her eyes closed, that she is close.
He whispers to her to cum but he won't move his fingers any faster.
She moans, feeling her state of impeding orgasm increase in size exponentially. Her hips rock against the chair and his leg. He looks down and sees her hands on the chair holding her steady as her body moves along with his fingers. He watches as her hand pulls away from the chair to grab the arm with the fingers moving slowly in and out of her. He smiles, but his fingers continue to move slowly.
She curses him again quietly but, again, his fingers continue to move slowly. She pushes her face against his face as she can almost feel herself quivering with the pleasure of the impending orgasm. Her head rolls back slightly. She can feel herself losing control. She squeezes his fingers with her pussy, hoping to get him to move faster or move in such a way that it will bring about her orgasm faster.
He continues to move slowly - one, two, three, and four.
She cannot believe she hasn’t already cum. She can feel it building and building. She opens her lips and bites his neck. She releases his neck and her head turns so that she bites his shoulder. She can almost hear her muffled scream against his shoulder as her body releases her orgasm. It is sudden and strong. She keeps moaning against his shoulder as her body releases wave after wave of her pent-up orgasm.
She releases his shoulder and her body relaxes from her orgasm. She feels his fingers slide out of her. She pulls back and sees his fingers sliding into his mouth.
"Mmmm," he says, "what an interesting story that would make. “Perhaps I will write it and have it ready with your coffee and muffin tomorrow morning.” He says with a smile.
Suddenly she recognizes her Muffin Man. . . . .and is happy . . . .it makes the warm afterglow of her orgasm even better as she smiles back at him and says, “please.”


Is that enough to earn a reply???

 

[Shimp]

OMG thanks for my add so I could drift off...

 

[Gooshy]

You have a really open but exciting love life. I actually got hard from thinking about the plane fun you had...

 

[davenjenn]

This is lovely, but not what we asked for in the our posting. J + D

Lyrica is not sure how this day led her here.
This morning started so well; she had stopped at her coffee place where she went each day, and the cute baker had just taken some chocolate chip muffins out of the oven and given her one. It was such a delicious start to her day. She imagined what her yummy baker would look like in nothing but his white cotton apron and a hmmmmmmmmmm of savored pleasure escaped her lips as she let the warm fresh muffin full of rich dark chocolate melt across her tongue; the sound as much for his form, his smile and those hands as it was for his talent in his kitchen.
. . . It wasn’t five minutes later still savoring the afterglow of the fresh baked treat and strong coffee that her cell phone rang and her day went to hell.
This had been one of the most exhausting Fridays in her life. Her so-called friends aren’t here yet. Standing outside the bar waiting for them after they wore her down and she finally agreed to meet them here for drinks and gossip was really starting to wear on her patience which had already reached its frayed ends from the drama and difficulties and delays at work.
She has been standing in front of this bar for the last 23 minutes. The entrance is a stockyard holding pen, with the next victims all lined up or milling around waiting to go in to slaughter; she doesn’t even want to find out how bad it will be inside. Lyrica sighs to herself, a typical Friday night. If she had only not promised to meet them then she would be home. “Yes”, she thought to herself, “home soaking in a nice hot bath”. Instead, here she is; patiently waiting for the girls in front of the latest fad meat market, a few stubborn strands of her hair whisping down the sides of her face despite her repeated attempts to brush it back with distracted hands or blow it off her cheeks and forehead, standing alone on her aching feet.
As much as Lyrica hates the idea of walking into the bar alone, she glances around once more to make sure she hasn’t missed them, and then slowly turns and with the weight of her crappy day on her shoulders, she heads into the Lion’s Den.
Lyrica moves slowly through the crowd near the center of the bar in front of the dance floor which looks more like the adult version of the Olympic floor exercises where the participants are scored on the degree of foreplay instead of “degree of difficulty”.
She barely avoids those "accidental" brushes against her body before she pauses and scans the crowd hoping to see a friend or even a familiar acquaintance with whom she can share a moment’s respite from the empty familiarity of the crowd; someone to share a moments anonymity with.
“Nope”, she sighs to herself once more, “no friendly faces here”. She takes another glance towards the bar area and resigns herself to venturing towards the back where she hopes one of her friends has shown up early and has been kind enough to hold a table for them. She needs to sit down and rest, her feet killing her.
Once again she navigates through a gauntlet of “accidental” groping and sloshing drinks until she arrives a few minutes later at the tables. She scans the surrounding area but does not see her friends.
She wants to scream. All the seats and tables are taken. She glances down at the nearest table. Five guys sit on some very comfortable looking chairs clustered around a waist high table. She could be sitting in one of those chairs with her shoes off. She glances at her watch.
They're nearly half an hour late, she thinks to herself. Lyrica takes another look at the guys; they are talking very loudly at one another. She can easily understand why they are, the music is loud, but the racket of people talking is a runaway train careening through the room from group to group unable to contain the escalating volume and frequently inches from derailing. Still, it isn’t unique, considering it is Friday night at a bar in the city. She cannot hear the conversational nuances from the men, but from the body language and smiles, they're all friends. She wishes her friends were here and she was sitting down with them venting her day, her week, her month, hell, truth be told venting her life!
She reaches down to steady herself against the back of one of the guy’s chairs, as she kicks off her left shoe and lifts her leg up to massage the ache in her feet and calf.
He notices her reaching down towards his friend’s chair. At first he thinks she’s going to tap him on the shoulder, but then he sees her kick off her shoe and lean over to touch her foot. It’s difficult to hold back from his normal male tendency for his eyes to be drawn to her cleavage; instead he gets up, walks around the table and approaches her, not wanting to startle the obviously already tired woman he reaches out and touches her shoulder with a slight tap from one finger, wondering if she will recognize him.
She looks up as she feels a tap on her shoulder and sees him smiling at her. At first she thinks he is staring at her chest but realizes that he isn't, that his eyes aren’t roaming her up and down assessing potential prey; they meet hers, and the smile on his lips reaches all the way to his eyes and he is somehow familiar, but she cant quite put her finger on why.
She can see his lips moving but can’t quite make out what he is saying.
"What?" she loudly asks.
"Sorry," he replies loudly. "Would you like to take my chair?"
She shakes her head and says, "Thanks, but I'm waiting on some friends."
He laughs and says, "Well, I hope they bring a stretcher because it looks like you're about to drop."
She smiles shyly at him but offers no response which would encourage further conversation. She is not here to meet a guy, which is the last thing she wants to deal with today “another oblivious guy who wants something from her without noticing much beyond her legs or her blouse” she thinks quickly; the thought cruises through her mind without her even consciously driving it.
"Then let me ask you a favor," he interrupts the search for the girls.
She nods without committing to anything, ready for “the line.”
"Could you hold my chair? I find it necessary for the sake of personal pride to use the little boys' room before I make a mess."
She smiles and slides the shoe back onto her foot. “That isn’t much of a “line”” she says to him as she returns her eyes to his face. She looks up and sees him holding his hand out for her hand; it is such an unexpected gesture, she is stopped for a moment, unsure what to do. In the end, she takes it, and immediately asks inwardly “why did you do that” and is surprised at how strong and soft his hand feels gently holding hers.
He guides her towards his seat, for a few seconds in total control of her movements. Lyrica sits in the chair as he waits with a simple smile on his charming face. He leans over the table, and in an unusually quiet voice that somehow cuts through the background noise: "Guys, entertain this lovely lady for a few minutes and behave yourselves or you’re walkin’ home. I’ll be right back." And with a glance he somehow insures their compliance with his claim.
Ryan did not really need to use the rest room. He could have waited, but she looked like she could use a break. He noticed her when she walked by. She seemed to have been looking for someone. His first thought was that she had been stood up. He could hardly believe that could be true, but still, anything was possible these days. When he saw her rubbing her feet, he felt sorry for her. So he decided to do what any guy would do, or at least ought to do.
He made it to the restroom and discovered, a frown forming on his forehead, that there was a line extending outside the door. “There’s a line.” “How strange it is to find a line to the men's room.” Shrugging to himself, he resigns to waiting, all of a sudden finding that his urge is more urgent than he thought now that he has decided to do something about it. A few minutes later, he knows why there’s a line. Someone has had a little too much to drink and is sprawled out on the floor passed out. A few people, he assumes bar employees, are attempting to revive the guy with small slaps against his cheeks and shrugs of his shoulder. Everyone else is going about their business in the restroom.
He dries his hands after washing them and heads back towards the table. It seems to have gotten even more crowded and loud, he decides as he struggles past some people avoiding inadvertently brushing against a few of the ladies. He finds himself nearly having to shout “excuse me” to a couple of them as he passes by.
He sees Lyrica is now talking among his friends happily. He walks up to the spot next to her and stands there admiring her hair.
She feels him as he draws near behind her and starts to get up but finds his hand on her shoulder. She looks up.
"It's okay, you can stay."
"No, I should go see if my friends are waiting for me outside," she says.
"Why don't you just give them a call? You can use my cell," he says as reaches for his cell phone.
"It's okay, I have one.,” she answers, pulling her own cell phone from her purse. "Thanks." She smiles at him and finds herself sitting back down. “I’m only staying here because my feet are so sore and I feel exhausted” Lyrica reassures herself.
She looks at her phone and sees that she has a message. She dials the number to retrieve her message as she picks up the drink, the second glass of the night already—the first had gone too quickly. She smiles as she takes a sip. The guys had insisted on getting her a drink. She had so needed a drink and decided to indulge. It is nice to have a group of guys pay her this much attention and do so in such a nice fashion instead of a “hoping to get some,” or with “expectations”. She has told them about her job and her day in the time that he was away, and strangely, they actually seemed to listen sympathetically. She puts her drink down as the voice mail plays.
He glances at her when she shoves the phone into her purse, a crease forming between her eyes, her frustration obvious.
Leaning over, he asks, "Was that your friends?"
He waits as she takes another sip of her drink. He sees her wipe her lip with a napkin and turn towards him.
"Yes, seems they're running a lot later than I had thought."
He nods and continues, “how long will they be?"
"We were going to meet here then head over to another place where another friend of ours is performing tonite." She shrugs.
Nodding again, he asks, "So you're not going to meet your friends here?"
"No. We're going to meet at the lounge."
She sees him nod; a little frown tugs at the edge of his lips.
"OH!" she says, "I should let you have this seat back!"
He laughs and says, "No, its okay. Keep the seat. I'm sure none of the guys would like me if I kicked you out."
She looks around the table and sees the guys looking in their direction. She isn't sure if they could hear; even she found it a little difficult hearing what he was saying.
He can see her tilting her head towards him, to hear what he is saying. He places his hands on the backs of her chair and the chair of a friend on the other side. He lowers himself onto his knees.
"When are you going to meet your friends?" he says, leaning closer to her ear so she can hear better.
"We're going to meet later,” she says as she looks at her watch. "In about an hour and a half is when I have to leave if I want to get there in time." “What is it about him that is so familiar? “She continues to wonder.
"Oh good, so you're staying with us until then?" he asks with what he feels is his best disarming smile.
"It is the least I can do for the gentleman who gave up his seat to a lady in distress!"
He looks at her a bit confused and glances around.
"What?" she asks.
"A gentleman?" he asks in return. "Where do you see one of those?"
As she takes another sip of her drink, she points at him.
"Oh," he says, "you are sorely mistaken ma’am.” “I am no gentleman."
She laughs.
He stops her by continuing, "I am a modern man. That makes me a naughty, dirty snob who knows nothing of gentleness even if it came up and bit me in the backside. Grrrr!" he growls quickly afterwards with another one of those distracting smiles and a slight dance of his eyebrows in mock innuendo.
She laughs. At first she is not sure if it’s the drinks or how easy she feels with him. She has not noticed him staring at her legs or her breasts. Whenever he turns to talk with her, his eyes seem only to look into her eyes. Perhaps that is why she is laughing. He is not what he is describing himself to be. He seems to be teasing her.
"Oh, I do not think so," she responds deciding to take the bait and push him towards a more open engagement. Parts of her hopes he will openly “hit on her” or even make a subtle pass now, even though that is the last thing she came here for. She is ready to exchange names or even numbers and . . . “Sheesh, girl he is a complete stranger, and he is standing there teasing you” she chides herself. Still, there is something so familiar and nice about him.
"Well, here is proof," he says and makes a grand gesture of showing his current position and then showing the others including her as being in seats.
"How does that make you not a gentleman? You did, after all, give up your seat!" she says.
"I had to use the little boys' room!" He rolls his eyes.
She laughs and continues, "You refused to take back the seat when I was going to give it up."
"How else was I going to stare down your blouse?" he says as he widens his eyes and commences an exaggerated stare at her chest.
"You have not!" she says, "and besides, you can't see my boobs from where you're kneeling."
"This is so I can see your legs." He glances around and leans in closer to say, "Also, I would be able to touch them!"
He grins and winks at her. And again he makes as if he is looking around to see if anyone saw him. “He is a tease!” she says to herself.
She laughs at him openly again and says, "You're not the type and besides, if you were -- you would have done it already instead of telling me." Now her thoughts are designed to provoke him to come for her—though again she is surprised at her behavior. “You are not here to meet a guy—even if he is charming and nice and. . . .” she inwardly raises her voice to herself.
With that, she takes her glass and lifts it towards him in a salute, claiming a point in their silly debate over his manners.
Grinning, he raises one finger above her tilting glass so she sees it. Then he slowly lowers it as her eyes follow his moving finger.
Lyrica watches him lowering his finger. She refuses to fall for his bluff. In a way, she wonders what he is going to do with one finger. Lyrica watches as his finger drops below the table. She lowers her glass and looks at him with a satisfied smile. She knew he would not. Then she feels it. His finger touches her thigh.
She would’ve spit out her drink if she weren’t already about done swallowing. Her eyes grow wide, but that was it. She’s relieved that it was just a tap. Relieved and . . . and . . . something, but she isn’t able to put her finger on it, not quite.
"See?" she says, finally trusting herself to respond to him.
"What?" he asks.
"You wouldn't dare!" she challenges him, both hoping he will “dare” and worried she will be disappointed if he doesn’t
He laughs. "That's what you say now, but after you leave I get to say I copped a feel of your leg and I won't be lying!"
She laughs, and suddenly moves across to the other side of the seat, making room on the chair. She gestures to him to come up and pats the space next to her.
"No really, it's okay, you stay sitting." Ryan smiles up at her, relieved that she did not take offense to his touching of her leg - a single tap, really.
"Silly boy, come share the seat with me." She pats on the space next to her one more time. She laughs again as she hears him mumbling about not being able to touch her leg anymore, but he starts to get up. She watches him as he gets up off his knees and carefully slides onto the seat.
He smiles at her, glad to have gotten off his knees. He reaches for his drink and takes a sip. He glances back at her when he sees a sudden movement coming from her direction.
She yelps or, as she would put it, “verbally reacts” to her sudden dip over the side of the chair. She feels his strong hand grip her arm as he steadies her and prevents a potentially embarrassing fall.
"Hey, I'm not that big" he deflects the blame to himself.
She laughs.
"Or is it that I'm that unpleasant, do I smell?"
She giggles much to her chagrin and says, "I didn't realize I was sitting that close to the edge” a bit shocked that she is suddenly flirting with this man, but she does realize that there is a smell to him—cinnamon and brown sugar and something sweet and . . . it is right on the tip of her tongue, but once again her overtired mind fails to recall.
She groans to herself. Well, at least she didn’t get dumped onto the ground.
"Mm-hm." she says as she readjusts herself onto her half of the seat.
"You want another drink?" he asks her, noticing her glass is almost empty.
She shakes her head and says, "I better not. I don't want to get too tipsy and start falling off chairs."
He nods seriously and takes another sip of his own.
"What are you drinking?" she asks him.
“Coke."
"No rum?" she asks a bit surprised.
"Nope," and then jerks a thumb at the other cup next to where his coke sits, "And a glass of ice water."
"So you're the designated driver?" she looks at him.
"No, I like to experience everything without any dulling of the senses," he replies with a wink.
"Why?" she asks, genuinely curious.
"As a hobby, I write. So I don’t drink when I plan on writing. That way I can clearly describe everything. So it will seem more realistic."
"What do you write?" she continues.
"What's with all the questions? You were just trying to get away from me, and now you want to interrogate me?" he continues to tease her with his smiling eyes.
She gasps and says, "I was not!"
He laughs.
She scoots closer to him on the seat and says, "Here."
Before he can say anything, he finds her right leg over his left leg.
"Now you get to touch my leg all you want and I won't seem like I'm running away."
The shock is evident on his face. He quickly glances around at his friends but none of them seem to have noticed. They’re still talking to one another, leaning closer to each other so they can hear over the noise of the bar.
She can’t believe what she just did. Maybe it was the drinks, but it is very satisfying to see the shocked look on his face when she did it. She leans closer to him to tease him some more wanting to get even for his teasing of her. Her right hand runs up her skirt to her leg and down along his thigh. She is slightly disappointed that she doesn’t feel anything. She pulls her hand away.
She looks around and the bar is not quite dark. But then again, the lights usually are dim. Dim to the point where she is amazed that anyone can see anything at all. She takes stock before considering her next course of action. They are sitting on those low seats, you can almost call them single seated love seats, but modern enough to show that the decorator was trying to show some sense of style.
She turns to look in front of her and the table is there. The tint of the glass doesn’t allow anyone any view of her leg over his leg. All around them, she can see all the people are talking, walking, drinking and some are even dancing, paying them no mind at all.
Leaning closer to him, she asks, "So what do you write?" thinking she has pushed the boundaries of her behavior and wanting to return the comfort of conversation.
He laughs once more and says, "You're not going to believe me. Either that or you'll run away repulsed."
She cannot imagine what he would say that would make that happen, so she shrugs and asks him again.
"Seriously, you can tell me. I promise not to run away repulsed!"
He glances at his friends then he lifts his hand over to the back of the chair and leans in. He moves close to her ear. Whispering, he says, "I write erotic fiction for a hobby."
"Really?" she says, turning to face him, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know men did that.”
He nods and smiles. He seems amused that she does not react negatively.
"Ever read any erotica?" he asks, still whispering into her ear.
She lifts the drink to her mouth to take another sip, not sure if she is all that ready to tell everything or anything so personal but wanting to. She nods slightly as she puts the glass down wondering why she admitted that.
"I wonder," he whispers closer to her ear, "I wonder if you've ever read any of my stuff."
She smiles, enjoying the sound of his voice whispering into her ear. She almost doesn’t really listen to his words while she is listening, but she realizes that he is waiting for an answer.
"I don't know. Tell me one of your stories."
He smiles and whispers, "I don't know." He glances around and whispers, "How about if I tell you what I'd write for you instead?"
Feeling nervous, but slightly excited at the thought of him teasing her through storytelling, and erotic story telling at that seems just about perfect. The current ambiance is definitely not the hot relaxing bath (which is where she liked to read the occasional erotic story) but she has let go enough for her to be willing to listen or maybe it was just the really long day has worn down her defenses. Either way, she relaxes her body as she leans back into the corner of the chair. Her leg draped across his lap lifts a little and moves slightly further up his leg.
His voice changes—that is the first thing she notices. It has been mid-range and nice, but now it becomes smooth and slightly deeper drawing her in and away from the distractions in the room and even the distractions in her mind. It is almost as if she is sitting in the hot bath soaking the cares away from her body just from listening to the soft baritone croon.
“She has had a rough day when she arrives at their apartment”; he whispers into her ear. “A note is on the counter where she sets her purse and keys. It says “Join me in the bath. She smiles and heads for the tub to find her man soaking in the bubbles holding out a glass of wine to her. She undresses and steps into the enveloping suds and leans back against his chest to relax her days away.” Lyrica can feel his arm around her as he whispers the story into her ear and briefly wonders if he is actually making the story up for her on the spot.
“the woman leans back and her man says “tell me about your day” and kisses the back of her neck”
She listens to him tell her how he would kiss her neck. She can feel a finger from the arm around the back of their chair touch the side of her neck, tracking a trail slowly. She can imagine his lips kissing her as he describes. She enjoys hearing him tell her how wonderful she smells. But before she can respond and let him know that she is not wearing perfume, she is surprised by his lips. They are soft and they barely touch her skin. She feels a tingle that she is intimately familiar with. She hears herself sigh with pleasure at the gentle touch. She opens her eyes, not realizing she had closed them as she savored the image in his story, to look around the table.
He pauses his kisses long enough to add: “he kisses up and down the back of her neck to the spot right behind her ear and listens to her sigh of contented arousal” and then continues the kisses smiling to himself at the real sigh they have evoked in her.
“Sliding around his strong arms around her one hand reaches to gently touch her thigh.”
She almost jumps as she feels his hand on her leg. She looks around once more to see if there is anyone looking in their direction. Her eyes close slowly as she feels his lips slowly move along the side of her neck. His lips move exactly along the line his finger moved. She can feel her head tilting to allow his lips more access to her neck. She follows his movement with her mind's eye as his lips slow and stops just below her ear.
“She feels the caress of the warm water and scented bubbles on her skin as he touches her skin. She is immersed in a warm glow of slow relaxed arousal. Her man smiles at how blessed he is to have such beauty in his arms to hold and appreciate.” “He wants her—but more than he wants her, he wants to please her, to seduce her senses, to touch her with his voice as well as his hands” “He wants her to wallow in the pleasure of nothing but his words and his touch until her day and all its distractions fade away into yesterdays memories.”
She is aware of the noise and the people around them fading away as the softness of his voice and the soft surety of his touch having been fully integrated into the story; she now follows wherever he is leading. She lets go. The sensation in her core grows in intensity slowly reaching a steady softly pulsing hum coursing from her ears and neck down her spine to the growing heat in her abdomen and between her thighs. She sighs with pleasure again.
“Her body flows against his as our couple merges into a single form of touch and response, of action and reaction no longer separate individuals but a whole—a joined pair of bodies merging into a flickering blaze growing from nearly exhausted embers of remembered passion.”
“His hand begins to trace a line from the mid point of her thing up to just inside her knee and circles gently there as he whispered to her how he would kiss her there—slowly tracing the contour of her skin and adding fuel to their growing fire.” “He tells her how enamored he is of her skin; a fabric of the finest silk could be no more perfect.” “Her man continues to trace the line of would be kisses along her inner thigh back down from her knee and drawing closer to the heat between her legs.”
His hand, touching her leg, moves along slowly. His fingers slowly circle as his hand moves from her knee to her inner thigh. He can hear her catch her breath as he describes how his lips and at times his tongue would move lightly along her inner thigh. He feels her leg move up his leg, spreading herself and allowing him easier access.
“She moves slightly allowing his touch to draw closer to her need.”
She smiles to herself, enjoying the sensation as his fingers move along her inner thigh towards her panties; and wonders if she realizes how much of the story he is writing and how much she is leading him to write with her responses.
She feels his finger following his words and reaching the silk of her panties. It is the gentlest of touches, not an insecure or fearful touch of a boys first attempt; rather it is the teasing touch of a man certain of his exploration, certain of his timing, and above all else certain of what he wants.
Which finger, she is not sure of, probably the middle – slowly moves in a circle. She imagines his tongue instead of his finger. She opens her eyes as he withdraws his touch from her.
She turns towards him with a questioning look on her face.
He smiles at her.
She watches him slip his middle finger into his glass of ice water without breaking his gaze. Her eyes follow his wet finger away from the cup and below the table towards her leg once more. She stares at the finger moving down under her skirt.
“
Then his wet finger begins to move again in slow, circular motions. She looks up into his eyes as he tells her how his wet tongue moves closer to her awaiting surprise.
She feels him lean closer to her and whisper into her ear how excited he is. She turns her face towards him. In an almost dreamlike state, she leans in to give him a light kiss.
Her hand touches his leg and slides down in between.
She feels his arousal plainly against the back of her hand, close to her leg. She adjusts her seating slightly by moving her leg a little more. If anyone were to look under the table, they would see her leg spread obviously with his hand reaching up into her skirt. She thinks this to herself and finds herself even more excited. She is not sure, but she believes she can almost feel his arousal against her leg.
His finger reaches the end of her leg, her upper inner thigh. His finger slides up towards her panties and then stops. His head pulls back slightly as she turns to look at him once more. She smiles shyly at him.
She watches for another couple of seconds, but turns her head slightly as she sees him leaning in to whisper into her ear. She shivers as she hears him describe how his tongue would taste her. She listens, willing every part of her to stay still, as he describes how his tongue would move. His finger slides lightly up along her naked pussy. She shivers again as he describes to her how his tongue would not linger but immediately slowly lick back down.
He whispers to her, continuing to tell her how his tongue would move against and along her. She notices that every time his whispery voice says, ‘lick', his finger slides up and then down again. She waits, feeling him moving his tongue slowly along her naked pussy. Again and again, his voice describes him licking. She does not know it but she moans. Her moan isn’t loud, but it is enough to send him a shiver.
As his finger moves lower, she can feel his finger slide between her pussy lips. She shivers and feels herself moving her hips slightly. She hears him whisper to her how wonderful it feels to slide his finger into her. Her excitement, evident in the form of wetness, allows his finger to move smoothly into her. She waits, feeling his finger sliding slowly into her. She hears him count one, two, three and four. Then he tells her to remember the count as his finger slides out - one, two, three, four. She leans back against the chair, partly against him. She moans again as she hears him tell her that he is going to continue to move his finger that slowly in and out of her until she cums.
His lips, so close to her ear, continue the count for her. His finger slides slowly in and he counts one, two, three, and four. Then his finger moves slowly out of her and he counts for her - one, two, three, and four. His finger continues to move like this, slowly and fully in and then out of her.
She can feel her body reacting to this slow movement. She opens her mouth and takes a deep breath. She hears him tell her not to move as his finger continues to move, sliding fully in and then out. She gasps as a second finger joins the first as his lips continue to count for her. She can feel her pussy spread wider with both fingers entering her. She feels his fingers slide fully into her.
She opens her mouth, maybe to moan or to ask him to move faster, but before she can even utter a sound - she hears him whisper to her that she should be quiet or someone will notice. She opens her eyes and look around. She leans her face against his face. She hears him continue to whisper his count slowly - one, two, three, four. She shivers as she feels herself wanting to move faster. She feels her body demanding that something move faster. She pushes her face against his face as his fingers continue to move. She hears herself tell him to move faster, that she needs him to move faster.
He tells her that he will not. He wants her to feel this slow moving of his fingers in and out of her. He describes to her how many people are around and how his words would describe to her how she is feeling with all these people around. They are so close and all it takes is one person glancing over.
With that, her eyes open and her head pulls slightly away from his head. She looks around again. She looks for anyone with their eyes on her, possibly catching her during this really personal and intimate moment. She shivers at the familiar feeling of the beginnings of an orgasm. She whispers to him, wanting in her aroused need to curse him for not moving faster. But he does not move faster. She sees him smile at her but continues to count slowly with the movement of his fingers - one, two, three, four going in; one, two, three, and four – coming back out. She leans forward slightly and her body moves. She whispers to him, her eyes closed, that she is close.
He whispers to her to cum but he won't move his fingers any faster.
She moans, feeling her state of impeding orgasm increase in size exponentially. Her hips rock against the chair and his leg. He looks down and sees her hands on the chair holding her steady as her body moves along with his fingers. He watches as her hand pulls away from the chair to grab the arm with the fingers moving slowly in and out of her. He smiles, but his fingers continue to move slowly.
She curses him again quietly but, again, his fingers continue to move slowly. She pushes her face against his face as she can almost feel herself quivering with the pleasure of the impending orgasm. Her head rolls back slightly. She can feel herself losing control. She squeezes his fingers with her pussy, hoping to get him to move faster or move in such a way that it will bring about her orgasm faster.
He continues to move slowly - one, two, three, and four.
She cannot believe she hasn’t already cum. She can feel it building and building. She opens her lips and bites his neck. She releases his neck and her head turns so that she bites his shoulder. She can almost hear her muffled scream against his shoulder as her body releases her orgasm. It is sudden and strong. She keeps moaning against his shoulder as her body releases wave after wave of her pent-up orgasm.
She releases his shoulder and her body relaxes from her orgasm. She feels his fingers slide out of her. She pulls back and sees his fingers sliding into his mouth.
"Mmmm," he says, "what an interesting story that would make. “Perhaps I will write it and have it ready with your coffee and muffin tomorrow morning.” He says with a smile.
Suddenly she recognizes her Muffin Man. . . . .and is happy . . . .it makes the warm afterglow of her orgasm even better as she smiles back at him and says, “please.”


Is that enough to earn a reply???

 

[Lorilei]

.....

 

[pink]

He's looking pretty damn busy to me.

 

[_Clit_Licker_]

You have an excellent relationship and set of rules.

You reminded me of the time I fingered my wife on an airplane. The guy sitting on the other side of her just kept reading his newspaper. I played with her until she came. How could someone sitting next to her not notice that!

 

[Inrhapsody]

.....................

 

[Lyrica2]

Suddenly she recognizes her Muffin Man. . . . .and is happy . . . .it makes the warm afterglow of her orgasm even better as she smiles back at him and says, “please.”

Very nice ending.

 

[davenjenn]

Bump...

 

[tnnikon]

Hi dave n jenny George and Ginger here

 

[davenjenn]

Hi dave n jenny George and Ginger here

Hello, just me here tonight. reply on PM if you want to chat

Jennifer

 

[davenjenn]

My old post from 4 years ago was revived last night and ever since I have been getting lots of PMs, which is nice (Except for one, which I think was trying to be rude, but I could never figure out what the person meant!)

I love getting PMs, but generally they seem to be just a few words that say the writer wants to chat to me. i really need a little bit more to get a conversation going.

Don't bother with physical descriptions, I could care less. Some idea of what turns you on might be nice.

Dave is still around, but not on here much any more. So it's mostly just me.

Jennifer

 

[babyjane20011]

My old post from 4 years ago was revived last night and ever since I have been getting lots of PMs, which is nice (Except for one, which I think was trying to be rude, but I could never figure out what the person meant!)

I love getting PMs, but generally they seem to be just a few words that say the writer wants to chat to me. i really need a little bit more to get a conversation going.

Don't bother with physical descriptions, I could care less. Some idea of what turns you on might be nice.

Dave is still around, but not on here much any more. So it's mostly just me.

Jennifer

I sent you a personal message.
jenifer