Lithouse Forum

[OldJourno]

The plugged up sink in the kitchen was beyond my skill set. I'd used the plunger and took out the pipe underneath the drain and hosed it out, but the water would take forever to clear.
So I called the plumber and boy what a surprise. She was a hottie.
I stood behind her and admired her plumber's crack as she fiddled around under the sink. Then I watched her boobs sway as she stood over the sink with that contraption that puts wire through the pipe to the blockage. It was obvious she did not wear a bra.
My wife Linda caught me admiring the show and didn't seem to mind. In fact, she and the plumber seemed to hit it off right from the start. In a matter of moments they were on the couch, kissing passionately as hands slid under clothing to caress voluptuous body parts.
As I stood over them Gerta, the plumber, caressed the inside of my thigh and suggested I pour some wine. I stammered that there was none in the house, so she sent me to the liquor store for a specific vintage of merlot.
"You're going to get quite a surprise when you get back," Gerta said in a husky voice.
I raced to the nearest liquor store, then two more before I found exactly what Gerta had requested. My love snake throbbed as I thought of the scene I'd left and what I imagined was in my immediate future.
Gerta had left by the time I got home. So had my wife.
That was two weeks ago, and no word from either of them. My mother-in-law hangs up on me when I call to ask if she's heard from Linda.
I guess I'll never know what that surprise was that Gerta promised.
Name Withheld
Chagrin Falls

 

[OldJourno]

Puss 'n' boots
I was new to the shoe sales business, entering my second week on the slow end of the mall. It was late Tuesday afternoon, the deadest time of the deadest sales day of the week (so I was told), and the other two sales associates had already left. I was on my own until 8, when the manager would return to close the books and help me close the store.
I was killing time reading a book by the cash register when she walked in. She was young, maybe 19 or 20, and stacked like they do them at IHOP. There was plenty of jiggle up top and the long skirt had a slit almost all the way up to her butt.
"I want some boots, long boots," she said in a breathy voice that really focused me on sex.
"Um," I managed.
"Long ... and white," she whispered as she ran her tongue over her lips. "Do you have what I'm looking for?"
I nodded dumbly.
Her hips swayed sexily as she made her way to a chair. I pulled up my own stool in front of her, the shoe sizer in hand, and she slipped off her sandals and casually dropped her right foot into my left palm. The skirt rode up her thighs and she spread her legs slightly.
I remember thinking "bacon strip" as perspiration beaded on my forehead. She smiled coyly at me as she slowly put her thighs together.
"White boots," she whispered.
Many shoe stores have much of the inventory in the showroom so customers can help themselves if they are so inclined. Ours was the same, but the boots were in the back room. I was back in less than a minute with a pair of soft leather high-heeled boots that had to be about 30 inches long.
I sat in front of her, took the right boot and slipped it over her naked foot.
"Zip it for me," she said softly.
So I did, moving it up slowly on the inside of her leg, past her knee, past mid-thigh. The zipper snagged on itself near the top of the boot and I had to wrap my fingers over the edge and wiggle to get it past the balky part. My knuckles were rubbing against her shaved nether lips while this was going on and she seemed to slump in her seat while her legs spread ever wider.
Thoughts of closing the sale on a $329 pair of boots were the last thing on my mind by then. I let go of the boot and softly pressed my thumb against her button. She spread her legs even more, allowing me to slide my forefinger, middle and ring fingers into her wetness while I continued the circular motion on her clit.
Her head rolled back as she groaned. She started humping my hand while I struggled to unbutton my Dockers with my free hand.
That's when I heard a deep, masculine voice from the front of the store say, "Hey baby, find anything that you like?"
She didn't seem to hear him but I did. I jerked my hand away from her steaming twat and hurriedly started to get my pants back up when I heard the voice right behind me.
"What the fuck is going on here?" he growled.
Before I turned I swear I saw a smile form on the face of the woman. She made no effort to close her legs and her twat was visibly moist. I could smell her sex. Hell, I bet you could smell it 10 feet away.
A rough hand grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around, leaving me standing with my rapidly shrinking dick still in my hand facing a very angry man who seemed twice as big as me.
I closed me eyes, perhaps because that seemed to be the only defense available. For that reason I never saw the Wolverine work boots approach my crotch at what felt like supersonic speed. I remember being lifted clean off the floor by the impact, flying backward into a stack of Nike boxes.
I was curled into a ball and moaning a few minutes later when I sensed movement. I opened my eyes and looked back up at that same twat and a smiling face above it. She was wearing the boots.
"No need to box them up," she said. "I'll just wear them home."
I remember nodding weakly before the waves of pain caused several minutes of vomiting.
Strange as it may seem, the story does have an upside. I've struggled with premature ejaculation over the years. I've learned to think "white boots" when the fireworks threaten to start a bit early and it works every time. In fact, I don't even come at all.
Name Withheld
Walnut Grove

 

[LizVegas79]

*subscribed*

 

[MrHotnspicey]

Cute

 

[barefootgirl69]

Dear Lithouse Forum

I've read hundreds of stories over the years about door-to-door salesman. I often wondered if it was really as hot and satisfying as it seemed, or if they were left wanting more. Last night, I found out for myself. Now I can share my story.

I happened to be home in mid-afternoon when I heard the knock on the screen door. Turning to see who was there, I noticed a young man about the same time he noticed me. He was tall and very cute, maybe a few years younger than me.

Talking through the screen he told me all about the magazines he was selling, though I can't remember a single word. I was too busy forming a plan in my mind. I wanted him. No, not for the magazines. I finally had a salesman on my doorstep selling more than cookies and candy bars, though he looked good enough to eat.

As he was showing the list of magazines, I suddenly asked "Do you have subscriptions for Lithouse Forum?"

He looked surprised. At first. Then, I saw the twinkle in his eye before he replied, "I'm could have written a few of them. Unfortunately, they aren't a part of the selection."

As I stood there contemplating my next move, I heard him say, "Listen, I'm with some other people this afternoon. Why don't you take some time to think about it, and I'll come back when we're finished."

That wasn't quite the way I'd read about in the Forum, but I readily agreed and watched his sexy ass as he walked away. A few hours later, though, he returned just like he said he would.

I still didn't buy any magazines, but I'm going to try to be home in the middle of the afternoons from now on.

 

[OldJourno]

I've read hundreds of stories over the years about door-to-door salesman. I often wondered if it was really as hot and satisfying as it seemed, or if they were left wanting more. Last night, I found out for myself. Now I can share my story.

I happened to be home in mid-afternoon when I heard the knock on the screen door. Turning to see who was there, I noticed a young man about the same time he noticed me. He was tall and very cute, maybe a few years younger than me.

Talking through the screen he told me all about the magazines he was selling, though I can't remember a single word. I was too busy forming a plan in my mind. I wanted him. No, not for the magazines. I finally had a salesman on my doorstep selling more than cookies and candy bars, though he looked good enough to eat.

As he was showing the list of magazines, I suddenly asked "Do you have subscriptions for Lithouse Forum?"

He looked surprised. At first. Then, I saw the twinkle in his eye before he replied, "I'm could have written a few of them. Unfortunately, they aren't a part of the selection."

As I stood there contemplating my next move, I heard him say, "Listen, I'm with some other people this afternoon. Why don't you take some time to think about it, and I'll come back when we're finished."

That wasn't quite the way I'd read about in the Forum, but I readily agreed and watched his sexy ass as he walked away. A few hours later, though, he returned just like he said he would.

I still didn't buy any magazines, but I'm going to try to be home in the middle of the afternoons from now on.

Bravo.
I'll be that meeting on the kitchen table of contents is another story.

 

[OldJourno]

There's just something about Eastern European men that, well, I find irresistible.
I'm no linguist, and when I was first introduced to Sir Gay I thought it was a real shame that a specimen like that would waste his body on other men. But clearly something clicked between us. I must have cured him of The Gay, as we say in Washington.
Instead, I just called him Sir, especially when he was behind me, pulling my hair.
"Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir! Yes, oh-sweet-Jesus-I-don't-care-if-my-husband-finds-out-just-fuck-my-brains-out-Sir!" I'd scream.
One day we were going at it madly on the desk at my office and I must have been making just a bit too much noise. Next thing I know, my friend Claire is peeking around the door.
By this time I'd probably climbed the drapes 20 times already, so I didn't mind sharing. I whispered to Claire that he was Gay before she climbed aboard what she called "Mount on the Sir man," and she told me that was no big deal. In fact, Claire said she dresses up as a guy and trolls the Washington gay bars in order to get laid.
"Fags have great staying power," she confided in me once, adding that the best part about being with Sir Gay was that she didn't have to turn off the lights to fool him.
Sir Gay was virile enough for both of us, and when official business brought us together I was almost coming in my orthopedic panties when they snapped that picture that's all over the Internet now. Same with Claire and that picture.
After one sweaty session with both of us, where an hour of cunnilingus on Claire had Sir bragging about "My Cat Skill" (he's sooo quick with a pun), he went down on me and I came so many times I now have a permanent squint.
All good things must come to an end. Sir Gay announced he had to end our relationship after emptying my office safe while I was gasping, nude and with legs spread on the office couch.
"Wait," I said. "What's your last name."
He smiled and in that accent I could never fully understand, he told me to think of him as the Kiss Lil Yak man.
I thought that was so romantic, until I looked up yak on the internet.
Nancy,
Washington, D.C.

 

[OldJourno]

I'd ignored the toenail fungus for so long people started to shy away from me due to the unpleasant odor. And that was with my shoes and socks on.
Plus, it was getting painful. I don't want to describe what my toenails looked like, but think pepperoni pizza left in the sun three days and you get the idea.
My doctor was booked solid but offered a referral to any podiatrist I could find. There were only 3 inthree town and the soonest I could get an appointment was five weeks away.
But the next day I saw a billboard for a Dr. Foot. I don't remember his real name, just the picture of this guy dressed up like a doctor and he's actually holding this huge foot in his hands like it's a 60-pound marlin.
The guy had a sense of humor, he was apparently just out of medical school and he had plenty of openings.
I admit to misgivings when the office turned out to be a travel trailer in an RV park. But the inside looked professional enough to my untrained eye. The lone exam room had the standard patient table to sit or lie back on, and that's where I was two minutes after knocking on the door, which I did just to verify I really had the right place.
The woman in white served as the receptionist and nurse. I sat at the table when she started pulling off my loafers and socks.
"Take off you pants," she said in a professional voice.
"My pants?" I asked, incredulous.
"Doctor takes a holistic approach," she said.
Under the circumstances I had no idea what that meant, but I pulled off my Wranglers. Just then she grinned, and for the first time I noticed how attractive she was. Her proud breasts jutted against her shirt, just asking to be freed. Shapely legs were hardly concealed by her miniskirt.
She casually caressed the insides of my thighs as she licked her lips. She started humming a tune as a familiar heat arose in my manroot.
"Put them there," she said, pointing from my jeans to a hook on the door as she slipped on a pair of gloves. Things are really starting to get kinky, I remember thinking.
So I stood up, took the two steps to the door, and slipped the jeans onto a hook. That's when she pulled down my boxers and, in the same motion, shoved her middle finger up my anus. With the finger two knuckles and then some deep, she pushed me with her shoulder into the door, effectively trapping me.
"We can make this easy or we can make this hard," she hissed in my ear.
I managed a whimper.
Then I heard the other door to the tiny room open.
"Well, well, I see our patient is ready for the exam," a deep voice boomed in the small space.
That's when I heard a familiar sound that I couldn't quite place, until the third time the pulling noise was followed by the roar of a chainsaw.
They tell me I'm lucky someone found me before I bled out. As it was, doctors had me in surgery for 12 hours, tying off blood vessels and sewing shut the holes where my arms and legs used to be.
But what really haunts me came a week later. I was back on a regular hospital floor, sleeping in a drug-induced haze in the early morning hours when I felt someone tapping on my forehead. I slowly became aware of my surroundings and the incredible pain I was still enduring when I focused on the woman standing before me.
It was the nurse, the one who bound me and helped dismember me. She used the chainsaw to take off my right arm at the shoulder and right leg at the hip. The "doctor" did the same on my left limbs.
Now she was back. I wanted to scream in terror but she clamped her hand over my mouth.
"Sorry you never got to first base with me," she whispered. "But there is a bright side."
I looked at her, not having a clue what she could be talking about.
"At least now, you can be first base," she giggled, then slipped quietly from the room.
I've actually given that some thought.
Name Withheld
Wounded Knee

 

[OldJourno]

I'm lazy about paying bills, but I never dreamed it would lead to one of the hottest experiences of my life.
As usual, I was 60 days behind on my city water bill. I know the routine, and I always pay when I get to 75 days out. After that, it goes on my credit report.
So I was a bit surprised when I answered the phone and a sultry voice on the other end called me sugahbuns and told me something had to be done about the past due bill.
"Why don't you come by after work tonight and we'll work something out," she breathed through the phone.
Curiosity aroused, I agreed to the meeting at city hall.
As you might expect, city hall was empty five minutes after 5 p.m. on a Friday. I was pretty sure this was some sort of practical joke, that no one was really going to answer my knock. But I'd barely tapped the door when it opened and a MILF, and I mean MILF, welcomed me inside.
I watched her hips roll in the short, tight skirt as I followed her down the dimly lit hall. When we entered her office she gestured to a chair next to hers behind the desk, rather than either of the two chairs facing her desk. My mind was racing.
We sat and she crossed her legs, the short skirt riding up and exposing a generous portion of shapely thighs.
I tore my eyes away from her legs, and that's when I noticed three buttons on her shirt had come undone since she first opened the door to me. Her tits were just the right size and practically fighting for their freedom. She did nothing but lick her lips and smile when her left tit fell out of her open shirt. The nipple was begging for attention and it took a lot of self control to keep my hands at my sides.
"Let's set some ground rules," she whispered as she uncrossed her legs and spread them slightly.
"Ground rules?" I had trouble speaking. My trouser trout was taking the bait hook, line and sinker, straining against the denim.
She smiled slightly and wiggled just a bit. Her other boob fell out of her shirt as I struggled to keep from panting.
"Keep your hands on the armrests until we've decided how you'll pay the bill," she said. "You are ready to pay your bill, aren't you?"
I had troubled speaking so I just nodded. She reached behind me, pulled my wallet out of my pants pocket, and extracted my debit card.
"Is this what you have in mind?"
I nodded.
"Why don't we pay this four or five months in advance, say $600?"
Again I nodded.
"Oh, baby, you're making me so happy," she moaned. Then she ran the card through and had me punch in the PIN and sign the receipt.
By then she'd unbuttoned the shirt completely. Her tits were even more spectacular than I initially thought. I was really struggling to keep my hands on the armrests.
She rose slowly and walked behind me, her stiletto heels tapping on the tile floor. I felt a boob brush against the side of my head. I sighed and leaned against her.
"You're never going to believe what I did before I started working for the city," she giggled softly. By then I had my eyes closed as I rubbed my head against her tits.
"What, baby," I said hoarsely. "What did you do?"
Suddenly I felt a stinging pain on my knuckles. My eyes shot open and I was stunned to see her whacking my hand with a ruler. The shift from anticipated pleasure to sharp pain was almost too much for me.
"I was a nun," she said. "And God doesn't like deadbeats."
Based on how I felt at the time, I'm pretty sure there's some truth to that.
Name Withheld
Bleubalz, Mo.

 

[OldJourno]

Linda was the new girl at school and I had just ended a relationship, so we just kind of fell into each others' laps. We had the first two classes of the day together, plus fifth period, and in all three we ended up side by side. It was easy talking to her and we had a good time together at the first dance.
Plus, Linda seemed to be hinting at more to come soon. She initiated hand-holding, wrapped her arm around my waist when we walked, and turned to face me and held the side of my face, guiding me down to my first kiss with her. She shoved her tongue deep in my mouth.
I thought I was fairly sophisticated for a 18-year-old, having been laid twice, though once was with Judy, the town punch. It was clear that Linda would be a step up for me if we ever got that far.
My Ford Focus was in the shop so Dad let me have the Town Car. It was a cold night in January and the plan was to go to a movie, but Linda hinted that she might have different plans. My imagination was running wild and I had three condoms in my pocket.
My mood was crushed when I picked up Linda. She had on a long dress that went almost to her ankles, an outfit so shapeless she almost looked frumpy. She wore no makeup, not even the little bit she wore to school.
Plus, she was really cool to me to the point of being rude. I talked briefly with her folks while she ignored me, and when we walked out into the bitter cold weather I toyed with the idea of just calling the night off.
I'd left the car idling and the heat on, and she warmed up as soon as I came around to my side and got settled in behind the wheel. By then she'd shrugged out of her coat and unbuttoned the dress from top to bottom. She had on nothing underneath.
"Let's go park," she said with a smile.
She started giving me a blowjob before we'd gone a mile and I was practically naked when we parked at my favorite spot.
I turned to face her and she placed her hands on the side of my head just like she did for our first kiss. This time, though, she leaned back and shoved my face into her shaved pussy. I'd read about eating pussy but nothing compares to the real deal.
Linda was screaming through her third or fourth orgasm when I felt a shudder roll through the car. I had just looked up at her when the window on the passenger side shattered and an arm with a hook on the end where the hand should be reached inside.
The face of a horribly disfigured man appeared. He made a grunting noise, then reached down with his hook and snagged Linda under the jaw. He yanked savagely. Blood was spraying across the front of the car as Linda kicked wildly. She tried to scream, making a gurgling sound instead, and then she was gone. This man, this monster, had jerked her right through the window.
I stepped outside, naked in the bitter cold, but saw nothing. I hurriedly threw my clothes back on and drove as fast as I could to the nearest police station.
The cops took one look at the interior of the car and immediately started a search. They never found a trace of Linda.
I guess the second worst thing to happen to me that night was having Linda's dad talk to me at the police station.
"Son," the visibly distraught man said. "Why is your shirt on inside out? What were you doing when this happened?"
Under the circumstances, I guess "eating your daughter's pussy" was a bit insensitive.
Ted Grundy
Tallahassee, Florida

 

[barefootgirl69]

I shouldn't laugh at that. ...I really shouldn't!

*covers mouth*

 

[OldJourno]

"She's the Devil's daughter," my mother hissed in my ear after Sunday school. She was referring to the girl who had showed up for the first time that day.
Mindy was flirty and handsy, as mom would say. Our high school Sunday school class met in a small room, the 8 or so chairs arrayed in a semicircle as Mr. Tuttle offered the lesson. Mindy sat next to me, though I'll never know why. Girls never paid any attention to me.
About midway through the lesson I felt her hand on my back, then it slipped down inside my pants so that she was running a finger along my butt crack. My armpits were soaked through by the time Sunday school was over.
I always sat with my friends during the Sunday service. The older students had our own section near the center aisle about ten rows back, and that day I was on the aisle until the last second, when Mindy came along and insisted on sitting on the aisle by me. I remembered mama's words but I was trapped.
Mindy put her shawl over her lap, but over the course of the service it kept creeping over on me. After the last song before the sermon it was resting solidly over both of us. That's when I felt her right hand on my thigh.
I was squirming by the time she started working on my belt, and my face was beet red when the snap opened my pants and the zipper slid down. She was touching me where I never touched myself, for I certainly didn't want to go to hell. Now I was surely headed there, and probably before the end of Pastor Red's sermon.
Her fingers peeled aside the fly and I'm ashamed to admit I was erect no matter how much I thought about cleaning up the horse poo in the barn.
Then her fingers were moving lightly upon me. A feeling I'd never felt before was starting. The Devil had taken over and I couldn't control it any longer.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," I thought, "This feels wonderful."
Then Mindy whipped the shawl away, screamed and pointed at my penis just as I erupted for the first time in my life. It was so powerful, the first glob shot directly over me and landed on Betty Sue Minton's forehead, or so I heard.
I seemed frozen in place, mesmerized by this thing in my lap that kept spitting stuff. It felt so good I knew it had to be evil.
Mindy stood then, giggled and ran up the aisle and out the door. I yanked up my pants and followed, almost tripping once. Women were screaming and fainting and the men were in an uproar.
I didn't care. I jumped in the front seat of Mindy's car and we drove down to the river. She made me do that thing with my pee-pee eight more times that day, this time in her pee hole. Lordy.
By the end of the week I was strung out on root beer and M&Ms.
Mama always said it was a slippery slope. I wish I'd found it earlier.
Warner Brownvan
Berlin

 

[OldJourno]

The storefront sign was simple enough: Careful What You Wish For.
No other explanation. I went inside to find out exactly what it meant.
The interior was mostly comfortable looking furniture - long sofas, big pillows and heavy drapes to darken the cozy room.
The whole atmosphere relaxed me to the point where I felt like I could just say what was on my mind. That's when I saw the counter and the woman standing behind it. She was gorgeous, sort of a young Kathleen Turner mixed with Kate Upton. She was wearing high heels and this long, filmy thing you could see right through.
I felt my cock harden.
"I, uh, um," I stammered.
The woman smiled and gently took my right hand in both of hers. She gently stroked my thumb and I realized she was mimicking the motion of giving me a hand job. I was fully erect.
When I opened my mouth to speak she shushed me, putting her forefinger to her lips in the classic "shush" signal.
"Careful what you wish for," she whispered in a sexy voice. "It will come true if you say it here."
I didn't see how that would be a problem but I played along and kept my mouth shut.
Then she parted the filmy shift, fully exposing her beautiful tits, and gestured that I was free to caress them. I eagerly complied, even bending over and sucking on the nipples. She groaned and arched her back.
"Oh," I began. She gently placed a hand over my mouth.
"Careful what you wish for," she moaned. "If you say it out loud here, it will come true."
I was beyond caring at that point. Suddenly the curtains parted and an even more beautiful woman appeared. She posed just for me, standing with her legs apart to show off her shaved pussy. Then she slowly turned so I could admire her perfect ass.
"Baby," I said. "As long as I've got a face you've got a place to sit."
A few moments later I found out she was a long-haul trucker who was, shall we say, casual with her personal hygiene. It's going to be a long 658 miles to Kansas City.
Jay Silverheels
Burbank

 

[OldJourno]

I've been coming to Lit for a while, have over 4,000 posts, and have my own group of "friends" here. I like to flirt with the women though I've never come close to actually suggesting a meet.
And like many who post here, my Lit name is pretty much what you want to make of it, though I consider my posts pretty gender specific. I don't think anyone who has been here a while would think I'm a woman.
Anyway, out of the blue one day I get a PM that reads "I think you're cute." I'm ready to dispose of the message when I noticed it's signed by BJQUEEN. What the hey, so I respond.
We continue to swap PMs that get progressively hotter and hotter, though now that I look back I guess they weren't all that hot. It was all pretty vague, like "I want to see you with your clothes off." Stuff like that.
In the meantime I visited the directory and found out BJQUEEN was a member but had never posted. The profile was, really, no more specific than mine.
The PMs continued, including the confession "I really like anal sex" from BJQUEEN. This after an earlier PM noting "I really like oral." No surprise there.
By this time the traded PMs had gone on for a couple of months. At work I found myself thinking often of my PM partner and had developed a vision of her between my legs, enthusiastically living up to her name.
With nothing to lose I proposed a meeting. I even suggested a public place for the first time, but BJ said private was OK and booked a room in a Dallas Super 8. I left my job in OKC a bit early and knocked on the door shortly after 9 p.m. It was unlatched and slowly swung open.
That's when I met BJQUEEN for the first time. He was about 6-foot-4, 315 pounds and buck naked. He was slowly rubbing the biggest dick I've ever seen.
"I thought you were a girl," he said.
"I thought you were a girl," I said.
He smiled and stuck out his hand.
"I'm Bobby Joe Queen," he said.
Feeling foolish, I put my hand out to shake. His grip was like iron.
Suddenly I was yanked forward while his left hand pushed my head down. In no time I was on my knees between his legs.
"Open wide, fella," he said. "I told you I like oral."
I closed my eyes, tried to keep from crying and comforted myself with the idea this would be over soon.
"Ooh, that feels good," BJ said. "Let's go real slow. And later ... well, I did tell you I like anal."
Name Withheld
Lit member since 2009

 

[KingOrfeo]

Dear Lithouse Forum,

I met this chick in a bar and we went to my place and fucked.

And I always thought your letters were made up!

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum,

I met this chick in a bar and we went to my place and fucked.

And I always thought your letters were made up!

Didja get a BJ?

 

[KingOrfeo]

Didja get a BJ?

A gentleman does not tell. *sniff*

 

[OldJourno]

A gentleman does not tell. *sniff*

In other words you porked Judy, the town punch.
Your secret is safe with me.

 

[OldJourno]

Yvette oozed sexiness. That much was clear when I interviewed for the job at the bakery. Her husband, Alexi, had brought Yvette and his baking skills from the old country. He was huge, sour and had no people skills, leaving it up to Yvette to deal with the public.
Yvette also handled personnel, so she was the one who interviewed me.
My job was to make life easier for Alexi, organizing incoming shipments, putting the dough in the oven for baking and removing it at the exact moment demanded by Alexi, and moving merchandise from the baking area to the display area at the front of the shop.
"Is not complicated and pay is not great," Yvette told me with her charming accent. "But great fringe benefit is you get to work with me."
She smiled when she said that and her hand reached over the desk and caressed mine. I thought perhaps that hand lingered a bit more than necessary, and figured it was probably just a European thing. But I was smitten by Yvette. She wore the tight yoga pants so popular these days, putting an awesome ass on display daily, and low-cut blouses that showed off a great rack.
Alexi started working at 2 a.m., I came in and opened at 5 and worked the counter, and Yvette would come in at 7 to work the counter while I went to the back to serve as Alexi's assistant.
With his baking done, Alexi would leave at 10. I worked until 1 p.m. setting up the baking area for the next morning, while Yvette continued at the counter. The bakery closed at 1 p.m., which was when Alexi arrived to count the money with Yvette.
Yvette was great with customers, smiling and schmoozing with the women and making sure she bent over plenty for the men, the better to display those magnificent tits. We had a lot of repeat business because of Yvette and because Alexi made the best donuts I've ever eaten.
Yvette remained very friendly, but with huge Alexi in the back of my mind I didn't dare do much more than smile and make small talk. Besides, I was sure she was just as friendly with the customers.
Then the power went out one day shortly after 11 a.m., plunging the back of the bakery into darkness and shutting down business up front because the cash register didn't work. Yvette learned from the shoe store next door the outage would last for several hours. A bus had crashed into a power station, taking thousands of people off the grid.
Yvette wasted no time at that point, locking the front door and hustling back to where I worked, a place lit by two small, high windows.
"Yvette is hungry for man," she said and she got busy with my belt. I was startled for a moment, then took the plunge, unbuttoning her blouse and finally weighing those beauties in my hands before leaning over to lick and suck the nipples.
Yvette wasn't much for foreplay. After only a couple of moments she broke away and hurriedly pushed the yoga pants down and stepped out of them. "Here, now," she panted, backing up to a table, leaning back and spreading her legs.
She was already wet. I entered her easily and soon we were fucking with a passion I've never enjoyed with another woman. She came repeatedly and coaxed three orgasms out of me before I left for the day 15 minutes early.
Even with that early departure I ran into Alexi in the alley.
"Why you leave now?" he asked, suspicion in his voice. "No electric for hours."
I stammered something and hurried on my way.
I never made it to work the next day. Alexi paid me a visit at 1:30, using a donut cutter in a way a donut cutter had probably never been used before.
Recovery has been slow, augmented by lots of estrogen. I guess I'm going to try the T in LGBT, and maybe another initial.
You see, I still feel that hunger for a certain woman.
I wonder if Yvette has given any thought to having a lesbian affair.
Kaitlynn J.
Beverly Hills

 

[erostwo]

How to Presume the Guilt or Innocence

Conjecture is one way to point it out?

 

[OldJourno]

Conjecture is one way to point it out?

Or just pull down the zipper.

 

[erostwo]

A Barbie Printer?

Polio's an example i'd dare to suggest, but MS ... MD!

 

[OldJourno]

I'd been driving since 3 a.m. and needed a break when I pulled off I-40 in the small Arkansas town. The very first right had a sign that promised a restaurant in the clubhouse of a golf course.
Open to the Public! the sign fairly shouted. Well, duh, why have a sign if it's not?
It was 2 p.m. when I walked in, and by 2:35 I was not only full, I was also standing on the first tee.
I never travel without my clubs.
The course was basically empty, it being a weekday during the school year. The retirees had already come and gone, the pro said, and the place was wide open.
"Just watch out for ivy on the back 9, by the 14th tee," he said.
And that's where I was at a bit after 4 p.m., though I could see no ivy. By my reckoning, the 14th tee was about as far from the clubhouse as you could get, and the only home visible was just to the right of the tee box.
I could hear the hum of a hot tub from the home's patio. I looked over to see a woman emerge from the back door and walk toward the tub. She casually lifted the garment she was wearing over her head, which proved two things:
1. She was naked underneath the dress;
2. She had a killer body.
I was standing on the tee box, staring with mouth agape, when she noticed me for the first time.
"Oh, hi," she said while waving. She walked toward me so she wouldn't have to shout, apparently not bothered at all by her nudity.
It was, I remembered thinking, almost like a dream.
She was about 10 feet away when she stopped, looked me up and down, and asked if I'd like to play "a few extra holes." I was too shocked to reply, so she stepped forward, took my hand and led me to the hot tub.
Once there she pulled my shirt up and over my head, knelt and untied my shoes, and basically undressed me.
"Come on, honey," she said in a sexy Southern accent. "You'll like my hot ... tub."
Then she laughed softly and winked.
We'd only been in the tub five minutes when she slid over and mounted me, riding me for all I was worth. Then we went inside, showering in a huge tiled space with water shooting at us from every direction. After soaping my manhood and rinsing it, she pushed me to a bench and gave me the best blow job I've ever had, all while the hot shower water rained around us.
I was spent when we stepped out into the steamy bathroom.
"If you're not in a hurry, I've got one more hole for you," she whispered from behind me as she toweled off my back.
I protested weakly as she took my hand and led me to the adjoining bedroom.
"Rest up, Sweetie, while I get us something to drink," she said before padding out of the room.
I crawled into the king size bed and promptly fell asleep. When I awoke my hands and feet were bound so that I was in the shape of a lower case t. It was dark, but I quickly realized that was due to a sleeping mask.
"Ready to try that third hole," the woman asked in a sexy voice. Before I could answer I felt her mouth around me again. No way I'm getting another boner, I thought, but the longer the blow job went on the harder I got.
"Does that feel good, baby," she asked. I groaned that it did, and at that point it never dawned on me that she was talking and giving me a superior blow job at the same time.
"Third hole," she whispered.
That's when I felt the bed shift and soft hands guide me. I felt the lubed anus around the tip of my engorged love muscle, then it slowly lowered. She made a gasping noise that seemed an octave lower than normal, then started a slow up and down motion.
We were about three minutes into the best anal sex I'd ever had when the doorbell rang, followed a moment later by pounding on the door. We continued fucking wildly, but I heard another pair of feet walk out of the room.
Then I heard the door open.
"God dammit, Ivy, when are you and that fruit loop husband of yours going to stop fucking my golfers," I heard a man shout. I realized it was the golf pro.
Wait a minute. Fruit loop husband?
Just as I unloaded the third wad of the afternoon I felt hands on my face. The sleeping mask was pulled away and I was face-to-face with a hairy, barrel-chested man who had been sitting on my dick. I saw his smile through a thick beard, and then he leaned down and kissed me.
He hopped off the bed and scampered into the bathroom before the pro barged in.
"Ol' Ivy's got another notch on her belt, and George has another load up his ass," he said as he started working on the ropes binding my wrists. I remained silent, horrified by what had happened.
"Don't worry yourself about it," the pro said. "George is so good, I almost came back for seconds myself."
It was almost dark by the time I got my clothes on and walked out to the golf cart, still parked on the 14th tee. As I settled in behind the wheel I took a last look at the house and saw a curtain move.
It was George. He waved at me and blew me a kiss.
I puked three times before I made it back to the clubhouse.
Name Withheld
Moorehead Park, Texas

 

[OldJourno]

I was cruising the Arizona backroads in my modified Harley. It was hotter than hell, but I was staying cool with the 283 cubic inches of the 1957 Chevy Bel Air engine giving me power to burn. The 4 barrel carburetor and dual exhaust, with a 9.5 compression ratio, compensated for the balance issues one would expect on a two-wheel vehicle.
In other words, staying upright was a problem when yer lugging an engine built for a fuckin' car. But what the hey, chicks seemed to dig it.
Anyway, I was about 30 miles out of Marlboro Man and cruising at a smooth 120 mph on the straightaway when I noticed a big vehicle pulled over to the side of the road. I eased off on the gas and rolled to a stop about a half-mile past the bus. It took about 10 minutes to get turned around, with the damn Harley falling over twice. Luckily, I didn't damage the engine.
When I got back to the bus I noticed the sign on the side. "Tammy Whynet 2015 Tour," it read, with "The Cuntry Knightingail" in smaller print below. Having never met a celebrity, I was ready to be impressed, even if it was 2016.
I stopped the bike, big mistake, and the fucker fell right over again. I don't know what I was drinking when I decided to put a fuckin' Chevy engine on a Harley, but it was doing wonders with my upper body strength getting the bastard upright over and over again.
I leaned the Harley against the bus when she seemed to float into view, an aura of fame overcoming the hint of B.O. combined with cheap perfume.
"I'm Tammy Whynet and this is Conway Titty," she whispered as she unbuttoned her buckskin shirt. "I'll fuck you 'til Friday if you can get this god-damned bus moving again."
She was missing a front tooth and the mustache needed a trim, but it had been a long time since I'd tasted the pleasures of the fairer sex.
It took me two minutes to figure out the bus's engine was shot. A wrench, screwdriver and hammer came in handy as I dropped that piece junk on the side of the road, then I pulled the Chevy engine from my Harley and carried it over to the bus.
As it turned out, my calculations had been perfect. I slid the Chevy's 283 cubic inches into the bus's engine compartment, tightened two screws and attached a hose. A half-hour after I arrived, the bus engine turned over and purred like a contented pussy.
I tossed the Harley, much lighter without the engine, on top of the bus and walked back inside. The air conditioner had already dropped the temperature to a pleasant 75 degrees. I heard the unmistakable sound of a shower in the back of the bus and walked that way.
Sure enough, it was a full-sized bathroom, complete with a tang in the air coming from the toilet.
"Sorry, but I just dropped a deuce," Tammy called from the shower. "But you're welcome to join me in here."
My biceps nearly kept me from fitting through the door, but once I made it Tammy was all this man could handle.
"Here's the soap," she said as she turned her back to me. "Wanna wash my butthole? We haven't had toilet paper for a week now."
"Where's the rest of the band," I asked as I got to work.
"I don't let just anyone clean my ass," she replied.
You don't know how much it meant to me, being allowed inside her inner circle like that.
Name Withheld
Camelhump, Arizona

 

[OldJourno]

Carrying on a tradition of men in my family, I am essentially hairless. With a touch of makeup, I easily pass as a woman since I only stand 5-6 and weigh 120 pounds.
My girlfriend likes to say that I'd weigh 110 pounds if they cut off my dick. She's exaggerating, of course, but I admit to having a fairly good-sized package.
My girl took a job in Paris for a year and told me to keep my activities to brief flings. I promised I would, but mostly I watched TV and kept to myself when I wasn't working in Manhattan.
That's how I discovered a certain well-known news woman on one of the cable channels. Rather than being dismayed to learn she was a lesbian, I decided I would use it to my advantage.
After reading up on her (let's refer to her as RM), I learned she liked to hang out at Sappho Sappho, a popular Manhattan club.
So I shaved what little hair I had on my body, put on my girlfriend's sexiest dress and my favorite wig, and began my sojourn into lesbian chic.
I gained admission at the door with flawless French for the bouncer, who was entranced by my accent. I timed my arrival perfectly, having done my homework, and managed to accidently collide with my target as we both entered the club.
I apologized excessively in French and, as planned, she was intrigued. In no time we were sitting at a private table, drinking champagne and holding hands.
She was a guzzler and was halfway through the second bottle (I'd was working on my third small glass) when she suggested we go to my place.
Perfect.
We kissed in the taxi, the jock strap confining me nicely though I was deft at keeping her hands at bay. I did this mostly by being busy with my own hands. We'd traveled only a few blocks when RM had her head back, her legs spread and her pants in a tangle on the floor. I was three fingers deep with my thumb on her little man (let me say she has a clit the size of some dicks) when the taxi driver announced we had arrived.
Ten minutes later my head was buried in RM's waxed snatch. She was screaming for me to stop in the near total darkness when I offered her a ride on my strap-on.
"OK," she panted. "Give me some of your biggest plastic dick."
I paused briefly to pull off the jock strap, then made a buckling sound with a belt I'd left nearby solely for that purpose.
"My girlfriends who have tried men tell me this feels like the real thing," I whispered in her ear in perfect French as I positioned my hammer.
"Oh, fuck me like the high school football coach used to," RM moaned as I slid inside. "And the band director, and the counselor, and the ... the ... the ... oh I'm such a slut for dildos if only Ellen could see me now now now ...."
That's when she started screaming so loud I praised God the units were soundproof.
She had her hands on my hips when I came, her legs straight up in the air.
We lay in each other's arms, totally spent and gasping for breath.
"Where is the strap-on belt?" she panted. "Why is that wonderful dildo shrinking in me?"
After three hours of speaking two octaves higher than normal, it was a relief to drop back into my regular voice, and in English.
"Was I better than the football coach?" I asked.
She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.
"Much better," she purred. "But please be different from the football coach in one way, baby."
"What's that?"
"Don't refer to me as the," she began.
"Journalist," I interjected.
"Noooo," she said. "Don't refer to me as the cum dumpster"
I promised, and then I filled it three more times.
Name Withheld
Manhattan