Lithouse Forum

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum,
A lifetime of chasing pussy and power makes it inevitable that sometimes one gets in the way of the other. This time in 1985 they intermingled in a mess of blood and splooge.
It was back in my glory days in Little Rock. A few public appearances, policy, politicking, pictures, deal-making after hours at the Little Rock Hilton - and Thursday afternoons with Betsy. Betsy was special, an athlete with big tits and a nasty imagination. She was worth every penny of the $500 I was spending for the three hours, 2 to 5 p.m.
Fuck and talk, suck and talk. Fuck and talk. Hey, I'm not bragging.
On that day we'd showered together and there was a special sendoff - a soapy middle finger sliding in and out of my back door while Betsy was doing her famous bob and weave up front.
Whoo whee. Four times for Billy Boy!
(Hope Hill isn't horny tonight.)
I had just stepped out into the hallway of the Hilton 20 minutes later, annoyed that the state trooper assigned to my security detail wasn't at the door to the 10th-floor suite. Betsy, in a robe just inside the room, noticed I was alone. She stepped out of the room, faced me, and opened her robe.
"You still like those tits?" Betsy purred.
"Love 'em," I said before my eyes detected movement in the hall behind Betsy. "Hey, that's Donald Trump."
"Huh!" Betsy snapped her robe shut and spun around so that we both faced a smiling Donald Trump.
"BOOM!"
The gunshot from behind thundered as pieces of Betsy's skull flew down the hallway. She tumbled forward, the bathrobe bunched up above the small of her back.
"That is one great ass," Trump said as he knelt, caressing it once before pulling the robe down to cover her thighs. He turned to me. "Did you ever tongue her shitter? You did, didn't you?"
I felt my cheeks and forehead redden as Trump roared with laughter.
Another man appeared from behind. He was holding a gun and shaking.
"Can I shoot someone else? Can I? Can I?" the man babbled.
"Hey, I think I've seen this guy," I said.
"I call him 'Schu the Jew,' but you might have seen him in Congress," Trump said. "He's on half-meds now. Take him off meds and put him in front of a camera, and 30 years from now he'll be in charge of the Democrats in the Senate."
"But why, why did you do this for me?" I asked as men dressed in white uniforms collected Betsy's body and stray parts and began cleaning and erasing all signs of her existence from the scene.
"Carville called," Trump replied. "I have a special on bimbo eruptions this week. We want to keep your dick as clean as we can, at least until you get into the White House."
"OK," I said. "But who is going to keep your dick clean?"
"Good point," he replied.
Bill C.
P.O. Box 10788
Thailand

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum,
The homeowners’ association quarterly had a surprising tidbit among the endless cautions about weeds and watering restrictions: We had a rat infestation. And I had my own confirmation of that less than an hour later in the place I love best, my shower.
It’s not just any shower. It’s 12 feet by 8 feet of showerheads, rock benches, glass, granite and more granite. It’s my special place and that’s where I was, just wrapping up shaving when I saw, reflected in the mirror, a rat-like snout poking from beneath the shower’s single drain.
Without thinking, without any plan whatsoever, I dipped and spun toward the drain, coming in so low the straight-edge razor couldn’t have been more than a half-inch off the ground. The blade sliced cleanly through something, though I had the sense the rat darted away from the blade, mostly avoiding it before it struck.
I was rewarded with a bit of rat blood, a brown bit of fleshy stuff and a slight sense of shame. The rat, sensing no further danger, returned, though remaining well back in the shadows of the shower drain, and sent a torrent of rodent hisses and spits my way. I gave him the finger as I washed off the straight-edge and hung it from its spot in the shower.
Two days later I was back with the rat poison, which was shaped liked a football and had to be placed inside the drain intact. To that end, I was on one knee, just finishing unscrewing the second of two screws holding the drain cover in place, when my Pinkie Sue walked in.
Faster than you can say “shower sex,” we were both naked with three nozzles aimed right at us.
A few minutes later I was engaged in some rather vigorous cunnilingus. Pinkie Sue was on her back on a rock bench by the shaving station, while my knees were being caressed by synthetic moss as my tongue waned on Pinkie Sue’s waxed nostalgic.
Suddenly I was gripped by an unspeakable pain, the kind of pain one associates with a big rat attacking your balls with his teeth and claws.
I screamed in agony as I swung around, catching sight of the rodent hanging on while compounding the pain. In desperation I grabbed at the straight-edge on the hook, then slashed wildly at the beast. I looked on in horror as the straight-edge sliced from just above my right ankle to just above the back of my knee to a depth of about an inch.
The rat seemed to squeal in glee as my screaming intensified. Making matters worse, I found I had lost all control of my right foot, which was flopping uselessly.
Pinkie Sue, her series of orgasms interrupted, surveyed the nightmare unfolding before her and spotted the bad guy. She leapt for the straight-edge I had dropped and took a swing, missing the rat but cutting off my dick.
The rat seemed to screech in victory as he made a break for my flaccid firehose. Pinkie Sue responded like a trooper, grabbing my dick and pulling it away from the rat just before he disappeared down the drain with it. The rat got even, biting the end of Pinkie Sue’s nose off while clawing out her eyes.
But by then I was gone. I grabbed my dick and staggered/crawled out the front door and into the street. My neighbor with a phone was calling 911 for an ambulance before I collapsed. My neighbor’s son with a phone captured it all on video, including me holding my severed dick in my hand and the blind Pinkie Sue charging out of the house, buck naked and tits flopping, screaming about a “bastard rat.” In other words, we were all over the Internet before we even got to the hospital.
That was two years ago. Pinkie Sue is strangely frigid and indifferent to her own hygiene. My dick was reattached and aches like a bastard before thunderstorms, plus I walk with a permanent limp.
I spend a lot of time in the shower with the water off and the lights down low, a baseball bat at the ready. I’ve removed the drain cover just as I have all those other nights. But I never see a thing, not even I shadow.
But I do hear something. I can hear him laughing.
Noah Comprenday
11998 Azure Chestnuts Rollthru
Syracuse

 

[BlinkOneSomething]

Posting here cause you were kind enough to read and critique my story , OldJ. Your stuff is humorous and enjoyable. There is a site minimum of 750 words to publish, if I were you I would develop a few into something that long or longer and keep writing. Thanks for the laughs. (Don't forget to proofread, will save you from waisting time.

 

[OldJourno]

Posting here cause you were kind enough to read and critique my story , OldJ. Your stuff is humorous and enjoyable. There is a site minimum of 750 words to publish, if I were you I would develop a few into something that long or longer and keep writing. Thanks for the laughs. (Don't forget to proofread, will save you from waisting time.

Hey, Blink, please feel free to post here when the mood strikes you. You might find this place is better suited for what you want to write.

 

[BlinkOneSomething]

Hey, Blink, please feel free to post here when the mood strikes you. You might find this place is better suited for what you want to write.

Thanks bro, I may have to read some Tom Robbins to get me in the mood, but someday I'll come up with a letter!

 

[BlinkOneSomething]

Dear Lithouse Forum,

Sully and me finally went hoggin' again. Ever since they closed down the Notell Hotel bah, we couldn't find any good hog fahms at all, for months! Well, Jimmy told Sully about a joint with some real heffers, and he was right. We're talkin' grade A flank steaks with high fat content! Only one skinny broad in the whole place!

There was pigs everywhere. Sully slapped me right in the jaw when we walked in and said, "Fuckballs! Whydafuck webeen hangin' down the Notell, when the lamplighta has all these heavies dood?" I told him shut the fuck up and buy me a fuckin' cold one while I made some heavy googly eyes with this one fatty. Man, she weighed an easy 350, and had yoga pants and a tank top her whoooole belly hung out of. I thought she may very well be the one for us. I got half a chub just watchin' the way she walked flatfooted and you could feel the room shake everytime her cankles touched down.

Just when I thought I was gonna grab Sully to help me pull her, he fell off his barstool 'cause he saw her too. I mean, in his defense, we had slammed at least a thirty pack at this point and a few yaygah shots. After I helped him up, he told me he was gonna propose. I told him bad ideah, ya don't buy a cah before kickin' the tires. He agreed, but said he didn't wanna kick her. I slapped him in the nutsack and told him it wasafukin' nalogy, and he kicked me in the shin and called me a douchebag. Then it happened!

The babe we was talkin' about walked right up to the bah and bought us two Pabst drafts! She wasn't just hot, she was rich too! This was getting highly erotic fast. I called Jimmy and told him we needed a wheelman stat, we had a keepah, and needed a ride so we could get her back to the slaughtahouse.

"Tonight's your night baby," Sully laid on the moves heavy, "we got Crisco at home and flour to find the wet spot. You ever tried cold bacon grease as lube?" I could see her start breathin' funny, like not weazin', but not gurglin' either. She lit a butt.

"No." We was in heaven. She was talkin' to us! Sully grabbed one of her ass rolls and I saw him gettin' a chub. I texted Jimmy 'Hurry the fuck up and bring a harpoon," as I saw her starting to drool a little. I knew if she passed out it was over, we would need more guys to get her in the car and everyone else we knew was definately passed out by now. Just then Jimmy walked in and he was in love too, I could tell. He said let's go, cahs runnin' and we told her we new a good pahty, and she was down.

So after we got in Sully's place we almost lost him. She climbed on top of him on the couch and he couldn't breath. I was slappin' her ass and even tried to find a hole to bang thinking that would get her off him but it didn't, she just laid into him harder. Jimmy was laffin' so hahd he couldn't even get any wood, and started singin' some song about elephants and clowns or some shit while he googled the numbah for the fiyah depahtment. I felt bad for Sully but not too bad, at least he had tits all over him. Eventually he found a way to get some weight off his ribs and catch his breath, and I think he even got his dick in between a couple rolls. We definately are goin' back to the lamplighta today, after we wake this broad up so so we can get Sully out.

Mikey O'Flanahan
Southie Boston
Massatwoshits

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum:
Close to 25 years ago, about the time stalking laws were taking hold, I had my own unwanted pursuer.
It was a woman at work, one of my employees. I was happily married at the time and never paid much attention to her advances, which were so indirect sometimes I thought I might be flattering myself thinking she was interested.
Then there was a week when I was alone. The wife and our two teenage children were out of town and it was fairly well known around the office. I ran into my unwanted admirer twice after work and brushed her off both times, and a third night she was parked across the street for a couple of hours, as if waiting for an invitation.
The week ended with me picking up the family at the airport. When I pulled into the driveway her car was again across the street, this time empty, and I told my wife briefly about what had been happening.
Two minutes later I followed her into the master bedroom suite to find my admirer in the hot tub. She fled with her clothes in her arms, my wife snapping a towel at her behind. My son caught the show and noted the intruder had a "nice ass." I had to agree.
Long story short, the wife insisted we call the cops. A report was taken, charges were filed, the hearing was held and my admirer lost her job and spent 60 days in the county jail.
That leads to last week and a chance encounter at the grocery store. I'm retired, single, and I'd been admiring the nice ass of the shopper ahead of me when she turned and our eyes met. It was my one-time stalker.
Well, one thing led to another. We shopped together, stopped at a bar for a drink, then I followed her home and helped her unload her groceries.
When she offered another drink I knew we were headed where she had wanted to go all those years ago. This time she was going to get her wish.
I gave her my best, giving the attention this sexy woman deserved while satisfying a hunger that had been building in me for months since my last encounter. When it was over she wept as I held her in my arms.
"There, there, dear, it's all right," I said as I tried to soothe her.
"Easy for you to say," she said between sobs. "I spent 60 days in jail for a guy who screws like you do? Jesus, where's my dildo?"
When I got home I found out the ice cream had melted.
Name Withheld
Hibbing, Minn.

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum:
This transcript has been floating around the Dark Web for a few weeks and should probably be shared with a wider audience. It's purported to be from a call-in service, Shared Fantasies, where people share their secret desires with an anonymous voice. Shared Fantasies doesn't sound like much with so many platforms for spreading information, but talking one-on-one with someone, even if that someone mostly just listens, has been winner.
It's like "A Diary You Can Talk To," as the ads say. Until the transcripts get hacked, like this one.

Rory: Shared Fantasies, this is Rory, your personal listener. What's your story?
JS: Hi Rory. You can call me Jussie. Not Jesse, Jussie.
Rory: Jussie? That's a strange name. Are you a homo?
JS: Hey, I thought you guys were listeners.
Rory: Sorry. No disrespect intended. Gay sex gets me hot. I'm straight, understand. It just gets me hot.
JS: Got it. I am gay and you say you aren't. So here's my story.
It's late, I'm hungry, so I'm walking to this sandwich shop. Suddenly these two muscular white guys in MAGA hats grab me and throw me in the back of a big van.
Rory: Ooh, I like this story.
JS: Yeah. Anyway, it's warm in the van and they've got this mattress with silk sheets so it's sort of scary and welcoming at the same time. But I'm put off by the MAGA hats. Then I take a closer look at these guys and realize one of my attackers is the governor of Virginia.
Rory: What the fuck? Northham?
JS: Yeah. And then I get really confused when he whips out the Virginia ham and it's black. I'm like, salivating and baffled. Then I get it. The guy's in whiteface! I went out for a Hebrew National but that Harlem Hero looked pretty good.
Rory: Uhh, getting warm in here. I'm gonna slip off the boxers.
JS: So there I was having a feast when I felt these hands tugging at my jeans. Before I knew it, I've got another Harlem Hero knocking on heaven's back door. Before it was over I was in a true spit roast, with these savages standing and spinning me around and around as I remained connected to them mouth and ass.
Rory: Of Jesus, oh Jesus. Do me next, do me … uh, I mean, what a story.
JS: Yeah. Anyway, it was so much fun I wrote these guys a check before they left.
Rory (panting): Wow, what a story. Have you thought of changing a few details, making those MAGA hats more prominent, and going to the police?
JS: Wha …. (transcript ends)
Just food for thought.

Dark Web Warrior
Out There​

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum:
It was an instant connection. Our hands touched as we reached for the coffee shop door at the same time and it was electric. I bought her coffee, we shared a table and chatted right away as if we were more than friends.
Twenty minutes later we made the short walk to my home/office and she started slipping the panties down and stepping out of them as soon as we walked through the door.
"I've never done anything like this before," she whispered as she tore at my belt.
"This is way fast for me," I agreed as I lifted her skirt.
In a moment she was pinned against the wall, moaning.
"Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, oh … what the fuck!"
She pushed at my shoulders. I staggered away and my dick popped out of her tight little twat. She was pointing to the rifle rack.
"I don't fuck guys with guns," she said as she left in a huff. I laundered the panties but she never returned for them.
I learned later she had a son in third grade. I have a daughter in second grade. We're both single parents.
We crossed paths weeks later at a school board meeting but didn't talk. The subject was school safety and a plan by several parents, me included, to keep an eye on the school now that Crazy Kevin was out of the nuthouse.
She told the school board more guns wouldn't make anyone safer, and sneered as she walked by me back to her seat.
Two days later I walked into the school 90 minutes into my shift. The staff knew me and knew I needed to use the boys restroom to get rid of some coffee. The principal told me it was OK as long as I didn't bring in a weapon.
Yeah. Right. Just don't frisk for the holster in the small of my back.
I was zipping up when Crazy Kevin pulled into the parking lot and fired a few warning shots into some other cars. He started walking toward the main entrance with a rifle in hand and two holstered pistols.
The principal announced he was going out to "reason" with Crazy Kevin. That was followed ten seconds later by a long burst of gunfire, the sound of breaking glass and the principal muttering "Oh shit" as he raced back into the school and ducked for cover.
By the time Crazy Kevin made his way through the shattered front doors the staff had fled, the classes were in lockdown and the cops were on their way. That gave him five minutes, minimum, to do some serious killing.
Then I slipped out of the boys bathroom behind him, pointed the .22 at the back of his head and pulled the trigger three times.
It's naptime, Kevin. See you in eternity.
That night she returned for her panties and left four hours later. She praised me for my gun control.
Name Withheld
Nampa, Idaho

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum,
I was reading my Kindle while waiting for one of those radiological tests they give people years after they quit smoking to see if it's going to kill you anyway when I noticed this movement in the background. So much movement it distracted me from my reading.
So I looked beyond the Kindle to see two legs moving in unison, sideways, up, down, with feet in and out of loafers. Attractive brown legs, attractive brown feet with cute little toes. Occasionally the heels would come together as the legs, feet and toes stretched toward me.
It was a nonstop show.
Finally I looked up. The legs belonged to an Asian woman about my age. She smiled at me. I hid behind the Kindle until my name was called.
My sex life is pretty vigorous for my age, or so my wife says. We have at it Wednesdays and Saturdays, and we go at it pretty good. But she still works, and I don't, so it's fun but she says when. And on Tuesday morning when I've got a hot pair of legs looking at me and nothing else to do the rest of the day, at my age you might do something out of character.
So after the test I stepped back out into the waiting room and was surprised to see the owner of the hot legs still there. I was even more surprised with myself when I walked over to her and suggested we "go get a cup of coffee or something."
"Let's try 'or something'," she said as she rose. She took my free hand lightly in hers and we walked outside where it was decided I'd follow her to her place for brunch.
We never got to the kitchen table, though we had a rousing session on the dining room table. But mostly it was a slow motion blur of soft skin, sensual kisses, gentle laughter and coos of delight that drifted from mid-morning to a point in late afternoon where I was standing at the foot of the bed, buckling my pants while she lay nude before me, her foot gently but insistently probing inside my zipper. I knew I was ready for another go but there was no time. Not today, at least, but boy would I be raring to go tomorrow, Wednesday, with my wife.
I tried to change the subject.
"Why were you at the radiology clinic today?" I asked as I gently dislodged her foot.
"I got mixed up," she giggled. Her name was Kay. She reached over to the bedside table, picked up a piece of paper and read me the address. Radiology was at 13580 Gumbohut, she was supposed to be at 13850 Gumbohut.
"So do you get treated for dyslexia at 13850?" I joked.
Kay giggled.
"No, silly, 13850 is the county clinic. I was going there to get treated for syphilis."
Name Withheld
Salt Lake City

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum,
I had the pool almost all to myself. It was a blazing hot August afternoon, but with school starting earlier and earlier these days, all the kids were already packed away until next spring. That left the kiddie pool, general use pool where I was, and the lap pool and big old hot tub for the adults, all but bereft of human traffic.
The only other person visible in the subdivision's swim center was an older woman who seemed to be working her way toward me, hugging the side of the pool as I sat soaking my legs up to mid-calf, my back to the entrance.
"Hi," she said when she nudged up against my thigh with her elbow.
I glanced at her. I consider myself a kind person, so my first impression was that as a younger lady the woman was not attractive. She was, at this point in her life, even less so.
I was wearing a University of Kansas T-shirt because I used to live in a small town 50 miles north of Lawrence, which is home of the main KU campus. I am a rabid KU basketball fan, though I haven't been back to the state in years.
"I used to live in Kansas," she was saying. "Clarabelle Springs, a little place about 50 miles north of Lawrence. You probably never heard of it."
She was lying. There was no such place. I tuned her out. She started babbling about her late husband, droning on and on …
"But what I really miss is giving my husband blow jobs," she said as she nudged my thigh with her elbow.
"What? Huh?" Suddenly I was paying attention. She shifted her body so that her right arm reached around my leg and inside my loose pair of swim trunks. She started softly massaging the inside of my thigh as she shifted again so that she was straddling my right leg, resting her crotch on my foot. Her left hand stayed on the side of the pool as she slid up and down my leg.
I noticed for the first time her tits were floating free, that they had somehow come loose from her suit.
"If you pinch a nipple I'll come," she whispered as she pushed herself against my foot. A moment later she was moaning softly as her legs tightened their grip around my right ankle.
The lull was brief. She had my erection in her hand seconds later.
"I need this in my mouth," she whispered hoarsely, which I thought was appropriate, given the shape of her face. I was concerned someone would walk out, but she assured me I could just slide into the water and pull up my suit if that happened.
"Besides, I know what I'm doing. This won't take long," she said.
And she was right. I was drained and put away in three minutes, in a daze as she worked herself away from me along the edge of the pool. Ten minutes later she collected her things from a table and walked out without so much as a glance in my direction.
Two days later there was a crowd at the sign-in area to the pools, five or six young adults gathered around the desk looking in my direction but lower when I came in, as if there was a TV below the counter.
"Hi Kansas," one of the men said before he could catch himself, then they all started laughing.
"What's the joke?" I demanded.
So they showed me. I was buzzed into the employee area behind the counter and saw what they were looking at - 6 closed circuit views of the pool I'd had my encounter in. And three of the cameras were zeroed in on the same woman and a lone man who appeared to be wearing a Texas A&M T-shirt.
"Turn up the volume, Leo," a girl suggested.
There was a brief pause before I heard her voice. "I used to live in Texas. Clarabelle Springs, a little place about 50 miles north of San Antonio. You probably never heard of it."
Leo followed that with a falsetto, "I know what I'm doing. This won't take long."
Everyone there laughed. Everyone but me. I tried to leave with dignity.
I now swim elsewhere.
Name Withheld
Phoenix

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum:
I like to watch. You'd think working a mop and a bucket nights at a rural hospital in Louisiana swamp country might limit your chances, but not when you work with Rosey.
Rosey is three cups short of a quart. At 24, however, she is perpetually horny, has a spectacular rack, a great ass and legs worthy of carrying such a package.
Rosey's deeds generally consist of early morning hand jobs for patients she's taken a liking to, but I've also stood in the shadows of the doorway and watched as a man in traction ate her ass while she masturbated.
And then John Doe showed up at the ER entrance complaining that his legs hurt before he passed out. They got him horizontal, pulled filthy jeans off the man and saw that some sort of disease was just eating up the flesh on his legs.
He was up in our two-bed ICU the next night, cleaned up, stripped naked with a sheet loosely draped over his waist and bits of salve daubed over portions of his upper body.
But let me tell you, he was a god even though he was seriously fucked up. Muscular, but not too muscular, a handsome face, curly golden hair.
By then the disease had spread almost to his belly button.
None of that made any difference to Rosey. I worked my mop and bucket to the ICU in time to see her slip out of her blouse and grab John Doe's right hand and rub it across her tits.
JD may have been hooked up to a morphine drip, but some synapse in his brain connected the idea his hand was on a beautiful set of knockers. I could see the sheet rise to an impressive height.
Rosey slid out of her pants, threw back the sheet and climbed aboard. I had a perfect view, but from 12 or so feet away I also noticed a foul smell when she pulled the sheet back.
But Rosey was ready to ride. She leaned back and ran her hands through her hair as his hands came up to grab her tits and pinch the nipples.
I lost track of time as the show continued, never noticing every other staffer on the floor at 3 a.m. was crowded in the doorway with me until that fateful moment when Rosey leaned back. When she put her hands on John Doe's knees, the skin just peeled away. That caused her to slide suddenly, and just as suddenly John Doe's dick just separated from his body, with blood gushing from his groin at the spot where his cock used to be.
There was a collective gasp from the doorway. Dave, one of the nurses, turned away. I think he'd been jacking off. The sound startled Rosey, who gathered her clothes and hurriedly put them on.
"I think there's something wrong with him," she told a nurse as she walked out of the ICU. "And there's something in my twat."
Dave ate it out of Rosey's twat a few minutes later. I know because I like to watch.
Herman C.
Louisiana

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum,
I was mid-June and hotter than a mother when I rode up to the starter at the first tee. Even though it was 108 degrees and with just a hint of a breeze, I figured I could race around the 18 holes in just over 2 hours and have a good time doing it.
In this heat at 4 in the afternoon, the day's golfers were certainly off the course, I figured. But the starter said another golfer had plans similar to mine and, per course regulations, we had to ride in the same cart.
The news didn't please me but I calmed down a bit when my playing partner turned out to be woman about my age. She looked sharp in the sleeveless blouse that was buttoned almost to the neck, and a pants outfit that may or may not have been some type of skirt.
We were polite at the start but soon loosened up, mostly, I think, because neither of us were playing as well as we wanted. The loosening was helped when the drink cart rolled by on the last call at the fifth hole and V - short for Vicki - shotgunned a bloody Mary and bought two to go. I filled my flask with Jack and bought some Cokes and we were on our way to a much warmer relationship.
By the seventh hole V let me know her husband was away on business, had been gone two weeks and wasn't due back for a week.
"Sometimes I get horny while he's gone," she told me as we rode to the eighth tee. I glanced at her and we both cackled, but I noticed two of the buttons on her blouse had come undone.
After the 11th hole we both needed to use the on course rest room. I finished and had waited a couple of minutes when V came out with a wad something in her hand that she stuffed in her golf bag. She was flushed when she sat beside me on the cart and another two buttons were undone on her blouse, revealing a very nice set of tits.
"I want to show you something over there," she said, pointing to a low shady area surrounded by trees about 25 yards from the 12th tee box.
I pulled into the space at a crawl and stopped. V reached over and took my left hand off the wheel and thrust it between her legs as she kissed me hungrily.
We left the course in separate cars 20 minutes later, arriving at her home in short order. She was undressing as she walked through the front door.
I pretty much came to my senses at 10 p.m. V had dropped off in a deep slumber, a smile on her face. I had to figure out how I was going to explain myself and where I'd been to my wife.
Before I left V's home I got the flask from the golf bag. When I got home I took a couple of healthy swigs, then splashed a bit more Jack on my hands and smeared it on my face and chest.
Thus prepared, I staggered into the house with my golf shoes and cap on, flask in hand.
"And where have you been?" my wife demanded as she looked up from the TV.
"I've spent the last five hours screwing the eyes out of a broad I met today," I announced loudly.
"Yeah, right," she muttered. "Golf and then out drinking with your buddies. You could have at least called.
"Now go get cleaned up. I'm horny."
Tom LaBrees
Sonoma

 

[OldJourno]

Dear Lithouse Forum:
It was the early 1990s and I'd been working as a aide in Senator Biden's office for less than a week, joining the same time as Alice.
Let me tell you, Alice was hot. I asked her out for drinks the day I met her, but she let me know right away that she had her eyes on a higher prize.
Her chance to show devotion came during one of those lengthy C-Span speech events when only a handful of senators and staffers were on the floor. Biden had spoken briefly about domestic violence and tied it to Valentine's Day, and I thought he'd done a good job.
Of course, I thought the world of Biden. He was a god in my eyes.
And then this happened.
We were sitting in a row, Alice, Biden and then me, when Biden turned to me, winked and said, "Watch this."
I turned and saw a slip of paper slide out of his hands onto the floor in front of Alice.
"Alice, could you get that for me?" Biden asked.
Some other words were whispered that I didn't hear, some giggling by Alice, and then she leaned forward, spread her legs and put her hands on the desk in front of her.
Biden wasted no time. Judging by his motions, he was caressing the inside of her upper thighs and her pussy under her skirt. I heard Alice moan and, as I watched wide-eyed, it was clear he was starting to thrust fingers in and out.
And Alice was keeping time, meeting the thrusts and moaning softly.
She managed to keep it together as she orgasmed. It wasn't that loud, I thought to myself. I found myself aroused and ashamed at the same time.
Biden told me to go by the office and tell the staff to take the rest of the day off.
"It's time to give the office couch a workout," he said as he winked.
Alice was still catching her breath on the floor while this was going on.
That's when Ted Kennedy walked down the aisle, stopped and smiled.
"Biden, you old dog, have you paid your dues?" he asked.
The sound of Kennedy's voice roused Alice.
"Is that Ted Kennedy?" she asked as she started crawling in the direction of his voice.
"No, I haven't paid my dues," Biden mumbled.
Alice stood and Kennedy gently took her by the arm.
"Come with me child," he said. "Let's order dinner in and after you can lick my balls. Would you like that?"
"Oh, god yes," Alice almost swooned.
They left arm-in-arm.
"Fucking Kennedy always ruins my fun," Biden fumed as he rubbed his crotch. He turned to me. "I don't supposed you'd blow me."
I shook my head no.
"OK, tell you what. Go get that other new girl, that Tara Reade," Biden said. "I think she likes me. Tell her to meet me in the hallway."
Name Withheld
Washington, D.C.

 

[allthetimeitsthere]

Ok,, who's next?