Transgender Model


Carolyn Blushes

And now for something completely different. I write a lot of different kinds of stories. This one is a bit darker, a bit rougher, a bit farther from reality. A shy girl who get pushed around.

She was such a timid little thing. When my roommate brought home his new girlfriend for the first time I couldn’t help but laugh a little. She was hardly five feet tall and looked even shorter the way she shyly folded her arms and looked at her feet.

“Hey, Mark, this is Carolyn.”

I held out my hand and she looked at Tom, my roommate, before shaking it, as if asking permission.

She was cute in a very girl next door sort of way. Straight mousy brown shoulder length hair, sort of dull brown eyes, pale skin that was peppered with freckles. She was a little chubby, sort of holding on to baby fat around her middle and on her bottom. She didn’t really seem to know how to dress, with her long skirt and her three layers of shirts which she was wearing to try and desperately cover up the fact that she had quite a nice chest. I think she noticed me staring at her chest, because she folded her arms in from of her breasts and blushed slightly.

“How old is she?” I asked when she got up to get a drink.

“She’s 20, why?”

“She looks like she’s in high school.” I said with a smirk.

My roommate Tom was a nice enough guy. He was a bit old fashioned and religious, something I could never understand. We didn’t talk much, but we were friends and we had been roommates in college. I was 25 and Tom was 24 and living together had always seemed to work. This was his first girlfriend after his big breakup with the girl he dated all through college, so I guess it was a good step for him.

It was strange, from that first day I seemed to be drawn to Carolyn. Maybe it was the way she seemed so embarrassed to be there and how every time I looked at her she looked down or looked away. It wasn’t even like I was ogling her, but she seemed so intimidated by me. I wasn’t a bad looking guy, but I was probably a foot taller than her and I outweighed her by a good hundred pounds. I was certainly a lot more experienced than Tom and I dressed better.

I chuckled to myself as they got on their coats and got ready to go out. I could only imagine the sex that they would have, Christian Tom with his morals and Carolyn with her almost immobilizing shyness. I doubt they would kiss until the third date. Sex was for the wedding night.

They went out to a movie and I found myself thinking a lot about this shy little thing. I was off for the weekend and didn’t have anything planned so I had a few beers, watched some television, had a few more beers and by the time Tom and his date got him I was feeling pretty good.

They smiled at me, sort of nervously. I wondered if they wanted to make out on the couch or something, so I got my stuff together.

“IÕll let you guys have the living room, I was just going to bed.”

“No!” they both said in unison. Then Tom laughed. “Carolyn has to get home pretty soon anyway. We just came back to get her scarf.”

Tom went to the bathroom and I turned my attention to the girl.

“Carolyn, you go to our old college right?”

She nodded, still looking down.

I stood up and stretched and felt how drunk I really was. I walked over to her and she seemed to cower. It was an odd feeling, having this girl so intimidated by me.

I smiled at her and she sort of nervously half smiled back.

“You seem kind of nervous around me.”

She swallowed and looked very embarrassed.

“I-I’m not.”

She looked delicious like that, quivering. I don’t know what it was, but it turned me on, a lot. I looked up at the bathroom door and I hadn’t heard any flush or running water. I looked at her and I moved forward a little and looked at her behind, now obviously checking her out. She froze.

“You’re a cute little thing. I can see why Tom likes you.”

She didn’t say anything. She just looked down at the floor.

“Nice ass. Nice tits.”

Still nothing out of her, but her face turned bright red. There was something electric in that. Having the power to make her blush so easily felt good.

I reached behind her and placed my hand on her ass. It felt deliciously soft. A little chubby, but tight skinned like a 20 year old should be. I squeezed it and rubbed it a little.

“Very nice.”

She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a little squeak, like a mouse. A low flush of the toilet had me back on the couch in a second, leaving her standing there, blushing and bewildered.

“Hey, Carolyn. Do you want some coffee or something?” he asked with a tender smile.

She shook her head, no.

“I… I should go home.” she mumbled and Tom nodded sadly, looking like a kicked puppy.

I was a bit nervous as they left, wondering if she would tell him what I had done, but something told me she wouldn’t.

The next time I saw Carolyn and Tom I came home to find them on the couch watching a movie. I smiled at them and said hello and proceeded to heat up my dinner in the kitchen.

It had been a few days since that first meeting and Tom had certainly not let on that she had mentioned anything about the ass grabbing. I’d been thinking a lot about it, even jerking off to the idea of it at night. The way she looked so frightened and didn’t do anything to stop me. I wondered how far I could go.

“I hope you guys don’t mind if I eat my dinner out there in the living room. I don’t like eating in my bedroom.” I said, sitting on the chair next to the couch, close to Carolyn. Our apartment was pretty small and the only real option was eating in the living room or our bedrooms.

“No problem. We were just finishing this movie.” Tom said, smiling. He had his arm awkwardly around Carolyn, who was nervously looking directly at the television.

“I’ll make us some more popcorn.” Tom said, getting up. Carolyn looked petrified.

The minute he was out of sight I got leaned over and smiled at her.

“I’ve been thinking about that hot little ass every night Carolyn. Tom’s lucky.”

I moved closer as I heard Tom opening drawers looking for the popcorn and I slipped my hand up her leg and under her to feel her ass again. She did nothing to stop me and just looked away. I got bolder and moved up her side and cupped her breasts which were now in a sweater. They felt perfect.

“I can’t wait until Tom leaves us alone sometime. We can get to know each other better.”

I heard the microwave door close and I sat back down just before Tom came in.

“Four minutes and it will be ready. Just like the movie theatre, right?”

I smiled a wide and devious smile. Four minutes and I would get another little feel. When he got up she got up too.

“Do.. you need any help?” she squeaked at him, holding his arm.

I had to stop myself from laughing out loud. He patted her arm. “No, no. You sit and e
njoy the movie, I’ll be right back. I’m going to melt some butter, too!”

I stood up as he went into the kitchen and I slipped my arms around her waist and looked down at her. She stared at my chest, her cheeks turning from pink to red again. I loved it when she blushed. I loved how she shook in my arms.

I put my arms around her and squeezed her ass again, pressing my hardening cock against her stomach and I kissed her neck and growled into her ear. “You pretend you’re a good girl, but I can tell you like this. If you didn’t you would just say no.”

Her knees gave a little when I sucked and nipped at her ear and then before I could do any more I heard Tom and so I walked to the bathroom.

It went on like this the next few times. I pinched her ass. I copped a feel of her tits here and there. I was looking for a time when I could get bolder. It was a few weeks later that Tom decided we should all hang out and watch some movie that had just came out on DVD. He brought Carolyn over and said he would go pick up some dinner for us. Carolyn wanted to go with him, but Tom being a chivalrous guy insisted on going alone.

You see, Tom had gotten it in his head that Carolyn didn’t like me, which was probably true on some level. Tom didn’t know it was because I was groping and manhandling her, he thought she just hadn’t gotten to know me. Of course Tom probably got this idea because I told him that’s what was going on. Tom wasn’t that bright and I can be very persuasive when I want to be. Tom listened to my advice that Carolyn and I just needed some time to talk and get to know each other.

As Tom put on his jacket and got his coat I looked at his sweet little Carolyn. She was wearing a knee length skirt and a button down blouse. She had had a sweater on, but when I turned the heat up she had taken it off. She had her hair back in a ponytail and her lips, which were sort of pouty, were shiny with pink lip gloss.

The minute he was out the door I was on her, this time sitting next to her kissing her full on the lips. She put her hands up and pressed against my chest to push me away. She wasn’t very strong. I kissed her, her lips tasted like vanilla. I was hard almost instantly. I tried to slip my tongue in, but she wouldn’t open her mouth. I roughly squeezed her breasts and pushed her back on the couch. She whimpered a little as I opened the top few buttons of her shirt and felt underneath. She was clutching my hand, trying to pull it away, but never saying a word in protest.

I watched the clock, setting myself a time limit of 15 minutes. I knew she had to get herself back in order, but I was going to have my fun before Tom came back.

I slipped my hand down her side and down her leg and then when I got to the hem of her skirt I pushed it up. She opened her eyes wide and struggled to say something, but no words came out. She looked scared. It made me even harder.

Her legs were pale and soft and although she closed them tightly I pushed up her skirt and tried to slip my fingers between her clenched thighs. No luck. I shook my head, I don’t like not getting what I want. I put my hands on her knees and pulled hard, she squirmed, but she was weak and I opened her legs easily. She tried to close them again, but I pushed her back on the couch so that her legs were up in the air and I spanked her hard on the ass.

It was an interesting thing. She tensed up, but her legs loosened then. I spanked her again for good measure and slipped my hand up and then between her thighs.

“Well, well, well.” I said, chucking with the evilest grin I could muster.

“This is very interesting, it seems like the shy little prude is soaking wet.” I was only feeling her soaked panties, but I pushed them aside and saw her pretty pink pussy, which was covered in short trimmed brown hair.

“I knew you were a little slut deep down.” I said, slipping a finger around the wetness and watching her writhe and moan. When I started slipping a finger in she grabbed my hand, but I took both of her wrists in one hand and pulled her hands away.

I looked at the clock and I didn’t have much time. I slipped my finger in to perfect tightness. I had to fuck this. There was no doubt in my mind. She was a horny little slut who liked to be forced and I was going to fuck her. It was only a matter of time.

I slipped my wet fingers up and found her clit and rubbed it softly. Her eyes closed and her hips raised up.

“That’s right, moved those hips up you little slut. You want more fingers don’t you?”

She shook her head no and bit her lip. I went on, fingering her faster. I found her clit and rubbed it, finding it surprisingly large and swollen. Her eyes closed and she moaned and pushed her hips into my hand. I relished the power over her and watched as her body tightened, getting closer. Then I stopped.

“Tom will be home soon. I’d better stop.” I said with a wicked grin, slipping my finger into my mouth. She tasted clean and fresh.

She looked confused and frustrated. Her legs closed and she seemed to be thinking of what to say or do.

“Unless you want me to finish.” I looked her in her eyes, but she looked away and shrugged.

“All you have to say is please.”

She looked like she would cry then. She closed her legs and rubbed them together.

“So wet and so close, but now it gone isn’t it. I tell you what, I’m pretty good. I bet I can get you to cum hard in no time. You better speak up though before it’s too late.”

She swallowed. “Ok.” she said.

“No, not ok. Please. Say it.” I put my hand on her leg and pulled her legs open.

“Please!” she said, pouting. But just then the front door lock turned and she straightened herself. Tom came in with a smile and pizza and I smiled wide. It was fun to watch her squirm through a whole movie.

After the movie I said my good nights and left them alone, though I had a plan. I waited in my room for a long while, until Carolyn got up to go to the bathroom. The bathroom was out of sight of the living room and it was right next to my bedroom.

When she passed by I opened the door and glared at her.

“Come here, slut.” I said, standing just inside my room with the door open. This was the test. If she was just a timid girl, too shy to even tell me to stop she wouldn’t follow my instruction.

She looked down, face red and walked in.

I pushed her against the wall and kissed her hard and pulled up her skirt, slipping my hand down her panties and hunting for her clit.

She was wet again. Very wet. I wonder how long she sat in the living room waiting with Tom. Did she sit there getting wetter and wetter wondering when I would make my move?

As I fingered her I reached down and took her hand and pushed it into my jeans and past my boxers. She grasped my hard cock, not moving her hand, just holding it and breathing hard.

My fingers were slick with her as I rubbed her clit, putting pressure on it and moving two fingers in a small circle aroun
d it.

She started rubbling my cock up and down, slowly, unsure.

“I…” she swallowed hard, her breath labored.

“Please, you’re going to make me…” she tried again.

Her knees were giving and she was trying to slid down the wall, squirming to get away from my fingers.

“Please, what?” I said into her ear, placing my other hand on her hand and making her stroke me faster.

“So.. close..” she seemed to be desperately trying to come and at the same time not to cry out.

I slipped one finger in. She was so tight and my fingers were thick, I doubted I could get two in. It was lovely to watch. When she started to come she got scared. She covered her mouth with both hands as I fingered her and rubbed my thumb against her clit.

Right after she came she stumbled out of my room, went to the bathroom and locked the door. I was hard. I was hard and I wanted to fuck. I heard Tom knock on the bathroom door.

“Are you ok?” he asked through the door.

I composed myself, put on a pair of sweatpants and opened my door. “What’s up?”

Tom looked concerned.

“She’s been in there a while.”

I nodded supportively.

“You ok, Carolyn?” he asked again.

“Ye-yes… it’s just my stomach.” she sounded like she was crying.

Tom looked worried.

“Maybe you should get her something for her stomach from the drugstore.” I suggested, with the best caring look I could muster.

He seemed to think it was a good idea.

“Do you want me to go to the store and get you some medicine, for your stomach?”

There was silence.

“I… it’s ok.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Carolyn, I think it’s a good idea.” I said in a controlled voice. Tom looked at me a little oddly.

More silence.

“Oh… ok…” she said meekly, now obviously crying.

Tom smiled, happy to be able to do something helpful. I patted him on the back.

When I heard the door close behind him I knocked on the bathroom door.

“Open this door, now.” I said slowly and forcefully.

There were sniffles behind the door.

“I… I shouldn’t. I like Tom, I don’t want to che-”

I growled to myself. “Open the door, now. I’m not going to ask you again.”

Another sob, another sniffle and then the sound of the lock and then the door opened.

She looked like a mess, her ponytail coming undone, her makeup running down her cheeks. I was hard. Rock hard. She was looking down pathetically. I turned her around so she was leaning against the sink. I pulled up her skirt until it was bunched at her hips and over her back.

“I… don’t want to cheat on him.” she said, not looked back at me.

Her panties were cotton. White with flowers. I took hold of one side and pulled it apart with both hands, then I ripped the other side and then I slid off the tattered remains.

“Then tell me no, slut.”

I opened my jeans and pushed them down a little with my boxers, just enough to get my cock out.

“You shouldn’t.” she whimpered.

I spanked her ass hard, looking down at her.

She was a bit too short and was up on her tippy toes and I ended up pushing her forward against the sink slightly to get easier access.

If there was any doubt about what she wanted, the moment my cock slipped across her sex those doubts were gone. She was so soaked that her thighs were wet.

I pushed the head of my cock in and she let out a long sob. She was tight, but I didn’t have much time, Tom would be back soon.

I pushed, the wetness letting me slip in, but the tightness keeping me from fucking her as hard as I wanted to.

I pulled her hair back hard and she let out a wild little cry.

“Open your eyes and watch yourself get fucked like a whore in a dirty bathroom.”

She opened her tear filled eyes and locked gaze with her reflections.

“Tell me what you are.”

I tried to keep my voice even, but I felt myself starting to go over the edge. Tom would be here any minute. The sound of my body slapping against hers echoed through the small tile covered room as I waited for an answer.

“I’m… a slut,” she started, gasping as I felt her tighten around my cock again. “I’m a slut… fucking my boyfriendÕs roommate.”

I gripped her ass tightly with both hands. Tight enough to leave marks. I was about to come. I felt it with every inch of me. I pulled out and turned her around and pushed her to her knees.

Her face was white and her cheeks were bright red like a doll. Her eyes were vivid blue from crying. She looked so much younger than 20 then. I pumped myself quickly with my hand until I felt the first jet of come, then I pushed my cock into her mouth.

I wasn’t sure she would know what to do, but she sucked it perfectly. I came hard into her mouth over and over and she kept sucking as I shuddered and softened. I pulled up my pants and looked down at her once more. That first shot of cum was on her chin, but she swallowed the rest. She had a far away look in her eyes.

“You swallowed it perfectly.” I said, her eyes meeting mine with something like defiance or pride. I left the bathroom and closed the door behind me.

Tom came back five minutes later. Carolyn had cleaned herself up and sat on the couch, her eyes still red and her face expressionless. I heard them whisper for a few minutes and then she left. Tom told me she went home. He would check on her. She said it was probably food poisoning.

That was the last time I saw her. It was just over a week ago. I imagine her going over and over these things again, wrapped up in the cycle of guilt and arousal. I’ll give her one more day and then I may have to drop in on her at home.

Brief Valet

The dry cleaner (a lovely woman from Belarus, I believe) had my order hanging near the cash register, waiting for me. She tried to brush away my tip, but as always she eventually conceded with a smile and daintily shoved the few extra dollars (as daintily as someone can shove something) into her vast brassiere.

Usually by 8:30, which my pocketwatch told me it had just struck, I’d be making coffee, but since my employer was “with guest” and the various grinding of beans and screaming of espresso making apparati would, I’m sure, be a less than ideal wake up call, I was out running the errands which I usually saved for later in the day.

The mornings when my employer had an overnight guest (or guests, as sometimes happens) were some of the most challenging in my professional life, I assure you. Still, in their own way, they were some of the most rewarding.

Most mornings my employer, Mr Leinhardt, and I would share some light banter on topics both political and scandalous while I gave him a shave, dressed him and attend to his breakfast. On mornings where Mr Leinhardt was entertaining I instead had to focus on the detailed movements and well thought out strategies of readying food, newspapers, clothing, and other essentials whilst not disturbing he nor his scantily clad (if that) visitor. I assure you this is no small feat and it takes all of my not unconsiderable skills.

After procuring the provisions for the day I made my way through the servants entrance and through the house, cleaning up a spilled cocktail and a pair of stockings in the hallway. I then entered the master bedroom silently and attempted to take the least amount of time possible picking up the scattered clothes and various detritus of my employer’s nocturnal activities, which by the look of things were both violent and sordid. It’s hard, I admit, not to steal glances at his guests. That morning specifically it was impossible not to notice the shapely legs of my employer’s acquaintance. The curve of her bottom, which seemed to my keen eyes to have earned a bruise or two, though one never knows if those bruises were collected in the scuffle and decadence of the evening before or, like so many objet d’art one picks up in one’s travels, she simply came that way.

There was a single breast exposed by the tangled limbs and wrinkled sheets of their morning tableau. It was pert, economic even, not the full hand heavy bosom I am fond of, but a perfect example of a flavor that is not my favorite, yet so lovely it gave me cause to question my preference.

I only paused a moment to take in the sight, feeling a bit foolish standing there holding a handful of her silk under things and a feather duster.

It was half past nine and by my employer’s orders he was to be up by ten even in the most extreme of cases. I started some bacon, I washed fruit. I did it all quietly, but banged and bumped around just enough to let them know someone was in the kitchen.

I had already steamed the young lady’s fetching silk dress (last season’s Givenchy?) and laid out her shoes (thankfully not Louboutin) and undergarments when I heard shower start. Mr Leinhardt did not like to dine until he was clean and fresh. As well, when having company, he often enjoyed entertaining his guest in his large, almost cavernous, shower. That, I’m sure, was a sight.

Since they were up I could grind the coffee beans, prep steamed milk and warm the cups. I had soy milk on hand in case his guest was vegan. One never knows these days. The table was laid out with plates and silverware, cloth napkins quickly twisted and folded into the shapes of roses, croissants, fruit, a variety of jams, all of the various the accoutrements.

Oranges and grapefruits were squeezed and the table looked opulent, laden with food and shining settings. This was all at Mr Leinhardt’s request. Most of it would not be eaten, in fact Mr Leinhardt usually only had a latte, an egg white omelet, a small shot of grapefruit juice, and was off to work. His female acquaintances usually had a half a croissant, a non-fat latte and picked at grapes. At eleven, when the two maid arrived, I usually made a long brunch of the leftovers with the small staff.

As I brought a crystal pitcher of juice to the table I saw my employer’s lady friend at the door of his boudoir. She was dressed in a pair of his fine high gray dress socks, which came almost to the knees of her skinny legs, and one of his dress shirts. It was one of the custom shirts from his London tailor. Split collar, a cool white, sadly she had buttoned three unmerciful buttons. I hardly looked though, just a millisecond but my eyes were greedy and my memory is photographic.

She was curious, as they often were. She padded around the large apartment marveling at the paintings, the grand piano, the statues. When she made her way over to the kitchen she leaned on the marble island and smiled at me.

“A tuxedo?” she asked. Her voice was high, feminine, girlish.

“Mr Leinhardt enjoys a traditional look for his staff, but to answer your question, no, this is not a tuxedo,” I say, trying not to make her feel foolish for thinking that my suit was a tuxedo, but all the same correcting her.

“So you’re an actual butler?” she asked with a wide and beautiful smile.

She was one of those women who exuded a warm, exhilaratingly sensual energy. Her face, which I had not seen during my brief foray into the bedroom, was gorgeous. Her skin was flawless, eyes bright and curious, hair, though mussed, was thick and chocolate brown.

“Really more of a valet, this apartment isn’t large enough to need a butler, per se. As well, at the moment I am also an ersatz fry cook. Is there anything in particular I can get for you this morning?”

She turned, looked at the food on the table, then around at the apartment and laughed.

“And I thought his car was something. Amazing. Hm, I suppose when in Rome. I want, Eggs Benedict!” she said with gusto, adding “and a waffle, and a cappuccino and champaign!”

Admittedly, it had been a while since I’d made a Hollandaise sauce. Mr Leinhardt had two regular cooks on staff, but he preferred as few people as possible in the morning and one of the reasons he hired me was my training as a chef and my work in the kitchen of a four star restaurant in Switzerland in my youth. Still the muscle memory was there and in moments the sauce was well on its way.

She watched me like a hawk. No, not a hawk, more like a bird of paradise. My back was straight and my eyes were forward and I did not look down the draping open collar of the shirt as she leaned across the island to snatch a handful of cherries. Not noticeably, at least.

Her eggs were plated as Mr Leindhart came into the kitchen in his fine blue robe.

“Eggs Benedict? I warn you Howards, this one is very picky and quite demanding,” he said to me while his eyes were on her.

I smiled and nodded at his words.

“Give her anything she wants,” he said in a tone that told me undeniably that he was taken with her and that I was to do just that.

He kissed her neck chastely, but she would have none of that. She looked up at him with a hunger that made my heart ache and she kissed him fully and deeply on the lips. She kissed him so that for a moment his jovial morning self disappeared and I turned my back to them so as not to see that wild side of my dear employer.

“You are decidedly bent on making me late,” he chided her half heartedly, then to me “give me the good omelet. You know the one.”

Working morning he had loose egg whites, avocado, goat cheese. The “good omelet” was my mother’s recipe. The eggs were mixed with a dash of cognac, heavy cream, cooked in goose fat and topped with caramelized onions and black truffles.

I nearly scorched the eggs when I turned and saw her shirt open. Mr Leinhardt’s hungry hands kneading her breasts. A glimpse of the bare smoothness between her legs, a preference of both my employer and mine, and I almost gasped.

As I plated his omelet I coughed a bit to give them a moment, but when I turned to serve I saw that he was not at all through.

“Howards, is this not the most lovely pussy you’ve ever seen?” he said, pushing her legs open and swatting at her hands as she went to cover herself.

I closed that door in my head. I turned off the circuit between body and mind and standing still, towel over my arm, holding the plate steady I look briefly down at the pink between her legs.

“I can truly say I’ve never seen its equal, sir,” and though I prefer not to rate works of art against each other, at that moment it was the complete truth.

Her eyes met mine as her fair white cheeks turned a deep red. Her eyes were glassy with want and she very obviously enjoyed the little humiliation of being shown off. His fingers toyed and teased her as his other hand pawed at her breasts.

“Shall I put of your breakfast until after you are finished entertaining, sir?” this sentence was edging towards our well defined line between dry humor and contempt.

Mr Leinhardt had made it clear that a certain amount of pushing was expected to get him off to work at a reasonable time, even when engaged with particularly interesting diversions.

“No-” he sighed and I placed his plate down on the table.

“Her name is Alma,” he said, balancing her on his knee, still exposed, as he folded his napkin on his other knee and started on his eggs.

“Alma, isn’t that lovely Howards?” he asked as I pour him his juice and brought him his coffee.

“Indeed, sir.”

She was drunk with lust, watching him eat, watching me serve. Ruddy cheeked, swollen nippled and her sex slpayed on the naked skin of his thigh, she looked so ready to be fucked I had to exile myself to dishwashing or else expose my desire in the breaking of the well ironed lines of my trousers.

“Say hello, Alma,” he said, very amused with himself as he continued to play with her body between bites of his breakfast.

“Hello, Alma,” she said flatly and then her breath caught and she let out a high perfect moan.

It went on like that, but eventually Alma was left to eat her Eggs Benedict (which thankfully somehow stayed intact after having sat there for a good ten minutes) and her waffle and her cappuccino (with two dashes of cinnamon) and a glass of ‘96 Clos d’Ambonnay Krud, while I shaved and dressed Mr Leinhardt.

Then he was off, after one long kiss from her. He was off and I was alone with her. It was a quarter past ten.

She sat at the table watching me clean up. She studied me and studied the apartment.

“Your boss is an interesting guy,” she said. I could see her debating whether she should close her shirt. I watched her decide not to. She leaned forward and bit her lip.

“Indeed, miss,” I said, taking a few plates to the skink.

“Alma,” she corrected.

“Miss,” I corrected.

She looked over the uneaten fruit and pastries and sighed.

“A man like that certainly does leave a lot of leftovers,” she said, a little sadly, pouring herself some more champagne and considered her place.

“No need to worry, miss, nothing will go to waste,” I said pouring the orange juice into a plastic jug for later.

She laughed at this, her charm was visceral.

“He doesn’t mind you taking the leftovers?” she asked, the question lingering in the air whether she meant the food or other things.

“I assure you, he often insists, miss” I said, gathering her glass and her coffee cup, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat of her body.

“Does he ever let you finish what he’s started?” she said, her voice lower.

I straightened.

“You’ll have to ask Mr Leinhardt about that, miss, I’m not really at liberty to talk about the goings on of the house,” and there was nothing in my voice. I squashed all feeling and simply busied myself with the cleaning up of breakfast and memorizing every blushing inch of her body.

“What if he told you to fuck me, Howard?”

I coughed a bit, mostly for her benefit. It’s unfair to have such a ravishing woman think she has no effect on a man. Even a man who is adept at swallowing his own desires.

“I’m afraid, as I said, you’ll have to take that up with Mr Leinhardt, miss. The particulars of my responsibilities are indeed up to him. And if I might, miss, my name is Howards.”

She was pouting now, downing her glass of champagne and standing up. She walked to her clothes, suddenly smiling at her dress, wrinkle free and beautiful, just like her.

She was unsatisfied, all worked up by Mr Leinhardt’s morning games.

“You can get me a taxi, Howards?” she said without looking up from examining her dress.

“If you’d like, miss, though we do have a car and driver who will be happy to take you anywhere you’d like,” I said, putting the last of the food away.

“I should have guessed that,” she said dreamily.

“And someone who can go pick up fresh undergarments for me?” she said testing me.

“Certainly, if you’d like. We could have someone pick up something less formal if you’d like as well. I believe I know a personal shopper at Bergdorf who could have something here in a half an hour,” I stood at attention, ready to attend to her needs.

She took off the shirt and stood in the middle of the living room in nothing but egyptian cotton socks, from a private label in Milan. The fine argyle stitch pattern barely visible.

“Come here, Howard,” she said putting her hands on her hips.

I walked over to her, averting my eyes.

“Howards, miss,” I corrected.

“What kind of name is Howards?” she said moving closer.

“It’s my last name, miss. Reginald Howards, the third,” I straightened my jacket and brushed a bit of lint off her dress.

She was perhaps five feet, four inches. Twenty four at the most. From her accent and clothes, an Upper East Side debutant who had seen money, but not the kind of money Mr Leinhardt had.

“Lay down on the floor,” she said with a steady voice.


“The floor, Jeeves,”

“I’m not sure I understand-”

“‘This one is very picky and quite demanding,’ is what your boss said, ‘give her anything she wants.’ So I want you to lay down on the floor, on your back right now,” she was ordering, but her voice was girlish and she sounded more like a young girl complaining about the size of her birthday cake.

Still, what was one to do? I knelt, I looked up at her questioningly, then I settled down on the elaborately embroidered rug. I remembered the bazaar in Marrakesh where’d I purchased the rug for Mr Leinhardt a few years before while I followed in the wanderlust of his twenties.

Miss Alma stepped over me and stood, with one foot on either side of my head, looking down at me. The perspective was both lovely and jarring. The peeks of her nipples just obscured by the light of the chandelier above us. The pink of her sex, slightly open, wet from Mr Leinhardt’s teasing, her hair falling a bit in her face as she peered down.

She lowered herself until she was sitting on my chest, looking right into my eyes.

“Anything I want, right?” she was beautiful and demanding and correct.

“Indeed, miss,” I said trying hard to maintain my detachment, knowing what would follow might test the control I’d honed for most of my life.

She smacked me. In my opinion it was a bit too hard and bit too close to my ear. The world swam out of focus for a moment and my ear rang.

She was breathing hard. I guessed this game wasn’t wholly new, but it had been a while since she played it. It was a very different game than the one she played the night before but it seemed like a suitable sublimation.

She slapped me again and then pulled at my hair. She messed up my hair, which was combed neatly and parted precisely.

“You’re used to cleaning up his messes, aren’t you?” she said still girlish, but now heated.

“Indeed,” I said swallowing feeling my ears hot and red.

“Miss! ‘Indeed, miss.’ Do you always forgot your fucking manners when you’re under a pretty woman?” she said slapping me four more times and then grabbing my throat.

“I do apologize, miss. You are absolutely correct.”

My composure seemed to anger her and amuse her at the same time. She pushed herself back until she was straddling my hips. I tensed and she pressed herself down on my hardness. She rubbed against it purring.

“Don’t move,” said whispered and my body froze.

“Are you going to go wash these pants after I rub my pussy all over them? Are you good enough not to come?”

“I always keep a spare suit here, miss, and I wouldn’t think of doing anything you did not explicitly request.”

She laughed loud and grabbed me by my bow tie.

“He made a mess of me this morning and you’re going to clean it up, Jeeves,” she whispered into my face.

Then she pulled herself over me and kneeled so that her legs pinned my arms down and pushed her pussy into my face, covering my mouth and my nose and making a wave of fear and pleasure wash over me.

“Lick it, make me come, that’s what I want. You’d better do it, Reginald Howards the third. You’d better lick my pussy until I come.”

Her hand was in my hair, pulling it so tightly my scalp prickled and burned, but I was only aware of this as if it was in the distance. All I knew was her pussy. All I knew was the smoothness against my tongue and the taste of her and the wetness and the orders to make her come. Pain wasn’t an option. Breathing was secondary to the need to service her.

I licked at her clit and dipped my tongue into her, letting her move herself and position the bits she wanted me to focus on. She squirmed and moaned and rode my face. After a few minutes she lifted one leg and pulled at my arm.

“Fingers, use your fucking fingers too,” she ordered and I complied as fast as my muscles would move.

I put two fingers into my mouth, then when they were wet slipped them into her as I continued to lick, finding the rhythm she wanted. I turned and pushed my fingers into her, finding the spot that made her back arch and her moans burst into little yelps.

“Oh, fuck, you’re-you’re good at this–keep–keep going–don’t stop,” she said her legs tensing and her clit being pushed down against my tongue as I fingered her.

Her smooth pubis covering my nose again and her legs closing around my head so that I couldn’t hear anymore. All of my senses replaced by her body and its building need. All there was was her pussy and my fingers slipping slick into it and my tongue burning with fatigue but still going, still servicing her demands until finally she screamed and screamed and then pushed herself off me.

She sat on the floor panting, shaking, holding herself, glaring at me.

“Holy fuck,” she gasped between breaths.

I swallowed. I tried to slow my own breathing. I tried to slow my heart.

“Get up,” she said, her voice softer.

I stood, shaken. I straightened myself the best I could. I walked quickly to the bathroom. I found two soft small wash cloths. I wet one with lukewarm water. I brought them to her.

“May I, miss?” I asked softly.

She laid back on the floor with her knees up and let her legs fall open. I marveled at her wet vulva, pink and neat. I softly dabbed at it with the warm, wet cotton. She closed her eyes and let me pamper her and clean her. I ended with the dry cloth, patting her wet thighs until she was fresh and clean.

“Now dress me,” she said, sounding dreamy.

I slipped her panties on, her brassiere, her garter belt, her stockings. I held out my hand and she stood and I lifted her slip and she lifted her arms. She looked like a sleepy princess. Finally her lovely dress in its royal purple.

“Thank you, Howards,” she said, spinning in her dress and closing her eyes as the silk rose in the air.

“I love this dress,” she said to herself.

“You look magnificent in it, miss. If you don’t mind me saying,” I said, gathering her shoes and helping her into them.

When I stood up she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

“I’m glad you exist, Howards,” she said with a strange sparkle in her eye.

“Is there anything else, miss, or shall I have the car brought around?”

She took out a compact from her pocketbook and patted powder on her nose.

“That will be all, Howard, I actually think a walk might be nice,” she said, turning and making her way to the front door before I could rush to open it for her.

She turned and looked me in the eye, suddenly looking and sounding much older than she did earlier.

“Tell him to call me. Tell him I told you to tell him to call me,” she said before turning and slamming the door.

I breathed out the deep long breath I’d been holding in for hours.

A minute later the back door of the apartment opened and one of the maids came in. Clare was red headed, huge eyed, thick hipped and we were well acquainted. My face was still red and my lips were still wet and I turned on her with a fury that made her drop her bags.

“You’re going to get the fuck into the guest bedroom, pull up your skirt and pull of your fucking knickers right now, do you understand?”

“What?” she said, surprised, but not that surprised.

“Into the guest bedroom and make sure there is nothing between my cock and your cunt or it’s going to get cut off. Am I making myself clear?” my voice was steadily rising into a shout.

She put her hand to her chest, her eyes wide, but then a wicked grin crept over her lips.

“Yes, sir, right, right away, sir,”

I pulled off my jacket and threw it on the floor. Then I went into the guestroom and took off my belt and got to work.

Cold Sholder

Senior meteorologist Ralph Joll had been at the country’s northernmost observation station on Breakaway Island for five years and was overdue for promotion but wore that because he enjoyed his life in relative isolation. However he was pissed off with the Meteorological Service sending him new graduate assistants who were half-scared and felt half-displaced at being in such wind-swept isolation and usually returned to the regional base within three months of their 18-month posting.

Ralph, when automatically required by Weather Service administration to comment on the withdrawal request , would include a final comment that read something like this: ‘Unsuited for front-line work’ or ‘Immature as an adult and no change has been noted’ or ‘Trembled in terror from the moment of arrival three days ago; please save my sanity and have him recalled’.

Surprisingly, once those useless jerks arrived back in the familiar surrounds of the city and were interviewed by chief administrator Mrs Wynter, they invariably said it was the climate and isolation that had got to them, that ‘Senior Met Mr Joll was a good guy and assisted them all the way and never bawled them out’, or words to that effect. Despite probing questions she never received personal criticism of Ralph apart from odd comments such as ‘Mr Joll is obsessed by accuracy in everything he does’ and ‘my customary diet was turned upside down because we ate fish at least twice a day.’

Michelle had just visited the Far North met observation station with the chief meteorologist during her biannual inspection of seven outposts, arriving by chopper in time for lunch and departing soon after, the two-man crew joining them for a seafood lunch that blew the visitors away, although the shared the knowledge that Ralph had been a chef in the navy for 12 years.

Michelle had a soft spot for Ralph, aged 42, because he was meticulous in his reporting and one of the most accurate observers in the field, although few of his kind were left with the advent of satellite technology. But there were times when a trained eye and steeped understanding of the idiosyncrasies of changing weather patterns could result in the observer filing reports into the system ahead of the analysts dealing with computerised data.

Speedy weather updates were vital to shipping and aviation services and of course farmers and other people on the land such as holidaymakers and people intending to pour concrete or even put the mattress out to air.

The remote stations in ‘weather sensitive’ areas also served as listening posts, picking up weak signals of aviators or sea craft operators facing difficulties or already amid drama.

As Michelle was above to leave Ralph got to his knees in front of the 53-year old woman and said, “Please Michelle, no more these snotty-nosed graduates who have never been far from the arms of mother. Send them to other stations that have road access to hookers and night clubs and bar and sports venues. Please send me a trained officer who needs updating or has insufficient experience of real time weather reporting before receiving a senior promotion.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” Michelle said. “Christ that was the best paella I’ve ever tasted Ralph and I’ve been to some top restaurants in my time and have dined on their paella.”

“Perhaps their chef tried too hard,” Ralph said. “It’s really peasants’ food and needs to be cooked from the heart with the cook’s idea of gifted flair left out of it altogether.”

“I hear you Ralph. Everything is looking okay out here. All I have to ask is when are you applying for leave; you have quite a bit stacked up?”

“When the weather settles,” he said and Michelle smiled and shook her head and kissed him. Well he was her favourite Weatherman although she had a devoted husband. But all Ralph got from her was kissing.

“Michelle and I have started the five-year review of Ops,” said Chief Met. Owen Brown, who rather liked seeing this softer side to Michelle who could be such a bitch at times. “We’ll consider your request. You are after all holding down our most rugged posting where conditions can before extreme.”

“Thanks Owen,” Ralph said and shook hands and handed Owen his pack of fillets from fish that had been caught that morning.

The station was housed in a lighthouse that ceased operating almost fifty years ago with the advance of modern navigation systems and more reliable propulsion systems of shipping. Because of dangerous currents sweeping around from the mainland, yachts kept well clear of this headland area. The tower was high enough to receive cell phone and of course internet connection and that’s why Ralph told new-arriving recruits it was bullshit to say they were in isolation.

The smart ones would then ask how often did supply craft call and Ralph would grin and say, “Every three months weather permitting but the occasional unscheduled chopper comes in and if you develop food poisoning by eating too much red meat you’ll be taken out by rescue chopper, weather permitting.”

Two weeks after the visit by Michael and Owen, she emailed Ralph.

‘That fish was glorious as usual. Sid and I say thanks. We are flying in your new assistant on Thursday, weather permitting.  She’s a mid-grade met officer from England who’s arrived in the country on our met exchange programme and wants experience in our most challenging observation posting.  Naturally I thought well you’d like a more mature person as your assistant even if she is female. Just be a good boy and keep your hands to yourself. She’d damn attractive and her appointment to work with you in isolation has been approved by our Minister on the condition that she reports to me by phone or radio daily. Mickey.’

Ralph scratched his bald spot wondering what the hell. Michael signing herself Mickey for the first time ever was sending him a Weathergirl. Was she nuts? They’d never get anything done because the woman would be bored and would therefore want to fuck all day.

“Mickey Wynter, you’ve finally dropped the ball and gone nuts.”

She just couldn’t do this to him. Jesus having panty hose drying in the observation room and the woman wanting him to present her with cucumber and water crest sandwiches for afternoon tea, and Beef fucking Wellington and blood-leaking lamb chops at nights and…

Ralph went for a walk and decided to call Michelle when he returned and give her a real blast for being so fucking ridiculous.

But it was a warm spring day and nature smelt its freshest best and he returned in a sanguine mood and returned to the novel he was writing about a shipwreck on Breakaway Island in 1930 based on a true event and thought he’d dash off a reply to Mickey in the morning.

In the morning as he was shaving he wondered if he allowed this female to be on the island with him would she permit him to shave her vulva.

Perhaps not.

But nevertheless, imbued by that thought that she might allow him to shave her treasure box, Ralph emailed Michelle:  ‘I suppose signing yesterday’s email as Mickey was part of the softening up process. Well I bashed my head on the concrete and decided yes send her over. I can always demand to be evacuated if she becomes unbearable. If she wants cucumber and watercress sandwiches tell her to bring watercress plants; I grow cucumber. And bring tea if she wants tea. Ralph.’

Two days later Michelle showed Kirsten Beauchamp Ralph’s email.

“Is he likely to flip?”

“No way.”

The 32-year old signed and said well it would be a new experience for her being alone with a guy.

“Hell I didn’t think you guys would wear my request. I read that magazine article about him and his remote station and thought that’s where I’d like to be and he rather shone through in the interview, sounding more like a hero working for mankind than a female molester.”

“I wouldn’t be sending you if I didn’t trust him to behave like a good boy.”

“Boy but he’s…”

“It’s a figure of speech Kirsten. Believe me he’s really a good guy, well-adjusted, in love with his environment after years at sea and is writing a novel.”


“The Under-Secretary for the Minister of Internal Affairs, Communications and the Meteorological Service called your parents to confirm your requests and your parents said they approved of your unusual request, saying you are quite capable for looking after yourself as you gained your honours degree in met and climate while serving in the Royal Navy. So it’s up to you to commit or pull out. We are ready to have you flown to Breakaway Island on Thursday. I’ll await your…”

“I’m already there mentally Mrs Wynter. I wish to go on Thursday for my three-month exchange posting. This experience will be invaluable to my career.”

*  *  *

The chopper landed in a stiff breeze in overcast conditions and that was reflected in the chilled welcome between the two principals after Miss Beauchamp had hauled off her water survival suit.

“Welcome Kirsty,” Ralph said jovially and moved in to kiss her and he got the cold-shoulder treatment.

She pushed him away and snapped, “Don’t you dare touch me and my name is Kirsten.”

“I apologize…”

“Enough of apologizing. Just make sure you bury your sexist attitudes.”


Ralph though this was his island. He was not taking that crap from anyone.

“Well lug your own things in and find somewhere to sleep,” Ralph said, taking the package from the crewman and said, “Thanks John” and asked the crewman how were his wife Jane and two pre-schoolers.

After that brief chat and waving to the pilot, Ralph then headed off to the house at the base of the tower, leaving what he considered to be a cold-ass English tart to look after herself.

John said to the passenger, “Do you wish to return to the mainland Miss Beauchamp?”

“No thanks John. Now not a word about this otherwise I’ll come after you and rip out your tongue.”

“Yes miss,” John said, taking a couple of steps backwards. “I’ll give the same message to Trevor in case he only has part of the picture of this unusual greeting.”

“Unusual, what the hell are you implying?”

“Nothing miss, have a nice day,” John said, running around the nose of the chopper to safety.


Kirsten found Ralph in the kitchen drinking coffee.

“I only stock coffee.”

She said that was fine, she never drank tea.

He poured.

She watched and took the mug and said thanks.

Kirsten looked at the fridge and he said, “We don’t get milk delivery here. There’s some long life milk in the pantry. I’d fetch it for you but fear being accused of indulging in a sexist response.

“I’m sorry. I was extremely nervous being in a chopper again, the first time since I was in one that ditched into the Irish Sea … in fucking winter.”

He didn’t look at her and said he understood.

“Um that was an apology.”


“Um if it will help you may touch me.”

He gritted no thanks and she sighed and said, “I’ve blown it, haven’t I?”

Ralph didn’t answer but said, “Come and bring your coffee. I’ll take you to the observation room up the tower.”

“Oh great, I’ve been looking forward to this. Is it true you get bad weather here, not unlike North Sea conditions at the top of Scotland?”

“Perhaps. Twice since I’ve been here a rogue wave has flooded the floor of the house.

“B-but we are about 80 feet above sea level.”

“Actually 71 feet above mean sea level. It’s high tide at the moment so 80 feet is pretty spot on. I guess rogue waves don’t accept how high they should jump when hitting land.”

She laughed, the laugh sounding quite musical, encouraging Ralph to think she could be a nice person disguised as a bitch.

“You must think of me as being a right proper bitch.”

“Nah you said you were anxious, I understand.”

“Ah yes, you served in your country’s navy and would know about warship roll and what happens at sea when aircraft come down or vessels sink.”

“Yeah a bit of knowledge I guess. I was a kitchen hand.”

“Oh funny that, Mrs Whynter said you were always seconded to shore duty when the Navy had extra-special luncheons or dinners because you were its top chef.”

“Michelle wouldn’t know a good chef from… Um from…” he muttered and looked away.

“From her asshole? I’ve spent years exposed to Navy-speak sailor.”

Ralph allowed a smile to leak.


Ralph set a solid pace up the spiral staircase, expecting Kirsten to be on his heels, red-faced and snorting like a mad cow and urging him to get a move on to show him just how fit she was. But no, she puffed and called she needed a breather.

“God I’ve lost fitness,” she said, moving a little alarmingly in the narrow treads. “Hold me please.”

Reacting on auto, Ralph gently held her shoulders, keeping a gap between her tits and his chest. She felt soft and pliable and he only half-heard her say gently, “That’s nice” because his mind was heeding the call of the wild.

Er good heavens. He shook his head and focused on cobwebs and continued holding her until she said mischievously, her breathing rate dropped, “Didn’t I say you were not to touch me?”

Ralph dropped his hands and went up a step backwards and he said emotionlessly “Oh I apologize for invading your space.”

Kirsten appeared a little despondent and he thought well she’d know who was to blame for that. She should have stayed in England.

“Come on, we have fewer than sixty steps to go. You go first and carefully set your pace.”

“You’ll be watching my ass.”

“You have to be kidding (she was in jeans),” he said harshly and thought about applying to take leave, immediately.

The completed the climb in silence, Ralph watching her swinging butt in her tight jeans and wondered if she’d been introduced to anal sex in the British navy.

The lantern and mechanisms had been removed at the time of restoration and fit-out of the lantern room for weather observation a few years after the lighthouse was decommissioned in 1977.

“It’s a little roomier that I’d envisaged,” Kirsten said, glancing at the single bed.

He said, “When cyclonic weather is approaching I prefer to sleep up here and use a remote-controlled searchlight to check out the sea at two-hourly intervals. I give heavy emphasis to watching sea conditions. ”

“Where would I sleep?”

“On the floor I suppose or back at the house.”

“We might need to talk about that.”

Ralph said nothing, thinking yeah, yeah and guess who’d be doing most of the talking.

“You have a huge array of instrumentation.”

“Yeah almost half is non-issue. I searched the web and imported the equipment at my expense simply because this is my hobby as well as my job.”

“Oh I can see what another hobby is,” Kirsten said, picking up a porn magazine from the table top.

He made no comment.

“I would have thought you would have put this away knowing I was coming. Oh wow,” she said, looking at a spread that might have been of the two lesbians.

“If I put stuff away it would have been me regarding your presence here as an intrusion.”

“I like the way you think,” she said, and turning to the centrespread yelled, “Omigod, look how big her…”

She stopped and dropped the magazine back on to table-top, cheeks flaming.

“There is a small library over there,” Ralph pointed. “It includes some nature and environmental magazines.

“Thanks but I’ll look at this mag later when… when…”

“When you are more relaxed?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Okay go out and circle the tower on the catwalk but first read the safety notice alongside the door.”

She read the notice and stopped outside after closing the door behind her and stood hands on the railing, but not leaning against in accordance with the safety notice and looked out to the horizon, the clouds and then at the sea, particularly at the wave action over nearby shoals.

Kirsten then circled the tower and returned inside and said, “The railing is well-maintained and I accept the sensible rule about not going out on to the walkway in wind more than 27 knots. Um it’s unlikely we have reticulated electricity supply in this remote area, so I guess it’s battery storage from solar capture?”

“Yes much of this top of this tower is solar panelling and of course there’s a large expanse on the roof of the weatherman’s house which is why the dwelling is angled that way. The house was constructed in the 1982, or more accurately flown in in sections after a cyclone collapsed the existing dwelling. The weatherman had the sense to go to the tower to sit out that big storm and had recovered food supplies from amid the debris and a supply vessel ventured out to resupply him when the seas abated. That guy was ex-Navy too and had radio in the tower of course to advise the regional office he was okay but was almost out of toilet paper.”

Kirsten chuckled and momentarily looked almost gentle by nature.

Late afternoon Ralph said, “Your arrival is a special occasion and so let’s crack a bottle. Red or white wine?”

“Red thanks. God I bet you wouldn’t have offered me even the smell of an oily rag when I arrived this morning.”

They laughed and she went off to change and returned wearing a short dress.

“Do you think I have nicely shaped legs?”

Jesus was this late afternoon fuck the boss time? No way and he grunted he wasn’t interested and she appeared quite taken aback.

“I can relieve you with an alternative to masturbation if you wish.”

“You have to be joking,” he said handing her a glass of ruby red pinot noir.

Recovering from that shock, she sipped and said sounding a little shaky, “Omigod this wine is magical.”

“A great grape and New World wine-making techniques combined perfectly.”

She looked at Ralph intently.

“So we are unlikely to have sex?”

“Night and day I should think if you can manage to get on to my wavelength. You have not had the most successful of arrivals. We need to act with a considerable degree of unity if we are to harmonize in this enclosed environment, so to speak. Forget you were a lieutenant and I was a lowly cook because there’s not a great deal to do here and we two having a fling would be a desirable way to entertain ourselves. Oh you can help in the vegetable garden and with the fishing and collecting seaweed to be used as mulch or to soak to provide liquid fertiliser.”

“How many times a day?”

Ralph thought he knew what she was on about but said, “I go fishing early morning as soon as I’ve dispatched my 5:30 report. I’m banned from using the boat so it’s either set line fishing or kite fishing or rod fishing, all must be shore based as it’s not considered I’m expendable and therefore most not take unnecessary risks, or preferably no risks at all. Fishing is really good here that I usually eat meat but like bacon for breakfast every second day or so. Um how are you with fish?”

“I was asking how many times a day were you thinking of having sex?”

“That would be entirely up to you.”

“Er that also means when you consider we are compatible.”


“Right I’m trying this conciliatory approach: would you like to cuddle now?”

“Yes I would but let’s not rush it and thank you for suggesting that. I suggest let’s enjoy the wine first and then I’ll put dinner on. Fish and pea and potato pie with garden spinach and carrots on the side. I rarely had desert but you can open a tin of fruit.”

“That sounds delicious. Um we won’t have fish pie every night will we?”

“Once or possibly twice every ten days. I put out the crayfish pots while you were napping this afternoon. We’ll have crayfish tomorrow night.”

“Omigod yes please.”

Ralph finished preparing the meal, washed his hands and returned to the table and split the remaining wine evenly between the two almost empty glasses.

They sat in silence and them Kirsten rose and removed her dress.

“Now what do you think of my legs?” she asked.

Ralph he to shift from eyeing the outline of the bulges of her pussy lips beneath the high rise white panties to look at her legs.

“Yes they are very shapely, a credit to you.”

She undid the bra and removed it and looked at him, waiting.

“They are an amazing pair of tits. You have no idea what seeing a great pair of tits is doing to me after me not having seen a pair bared for close to three years.

“I would think it’s making you super-horny.”


“And so all is forgiven now.”

“Yes, totally.”

“And you’d like to remove my panties and ram me?”

“Yes, for sure.”

“Okay. We can catch up with vaginal arousal techniques some other time.”

“Is over the table okay?”

“Yes it’s fine,” Kirsten said, pulling off her panties.

“Christ it’s completely bald.”

“Yes that’s my preference and I must try to persuade you to shave me there.”

Ralph couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He dropped his shorts.

“Omigod that’s a club, not a penis,” Kirsten said, dribbling. “I’ll never get that up my butt.”

Ralph leered and promised, “I can perform miracles. A friend of mine who’s a vet gave me this lube they use on ewes experiencing lambing difficulties. His wife won’t settle for anything less and my buddy has found some of her girlfriends now won’t have anal sex without it.”

Board Room Eyes

I was sitting at my desk…struggling with the end of month figures.  I was missing something somewhere and they just wouldn’t balance.   The office air-conditioning was on the blink again and it was hotter than hell.   My cuffs are undone and my shirt sleeves were rolled up above my elbows and my buttons undone as far as appropriate for a busy office.  I had already kicked my shoes off under my desk.   I’d pinned my curls up in a loose bun to keep the hair off my neck, but it wasn’t helping that much as a little droplet of perspiration made its way down my chest between my breasts.  My skirt is riding up above my knees and the lace tops of my stockings are visible.

I’m sitting staring at my monitor… the cursor flashes at me, almost hypnotising me, when my reverie is disturbed by a knock on my door.  “You are required in the board room.”

Scrabbling for my black patent heels, I slip them on then stand and straighten my skirt and head off as summoned.  When I arrive I knock on the door and allow myself in…the room is dark and for a second, I thought empty, then I hear his voice, “Ahhh yes, Come in please.”

I think I recognise the voice, but I’m not sure…I cannot see who it belongs to.

“Please sit here”.

I walk towards the voice and assume he meant the chair beside him and so I turn towards it.

“No…Not there…Here…”

I see a hand in a cuff linked shirt sleeve motion to the desk.  He is sitting well back from the desk, so I walk in front of him; I am confused and more than a little flustered but find myself doing as I am told. I lean against the edge of the massive boardroom table …His face is in shadow, I can only see his hands and legs – the bulge in the Italian cut suit front is not lost on me.

“I said sit!”

His voice is low but insistent; a gentle dominance that leaves me no opportunity to argue.

I slide back on the cool wood of the table; its French polished surface is slippery beneath my skirted arse.  I am surprised at my sudden willingness to do as I am told.

He stands, places his manicured hands onto my knees and gently pushes my legs apart.  I allow this as if it is the most natural thing in the world to do.  He moves forward and stands between them, his face is still in shadow, but I smell his familiar cologne.  I open my mouth to speak, but am silenced by his pointer finger softly against my mouth.  I close my lips, and almost kiss it in so doing.

“Shhh, my Dear.”  He moves his hand beneath my chin and tilts my face up, I close my eyes and I feel the barest brush of his lips against mine.   I find myself respond and seek them out.  He kisses me, his lips move against mine and his tongue finds its way between, flicking, licking, teasing, kissing me deeply.  God I want more of this. His hand has moved from chin and brushing down the side of my neck, inside the collar of my shirt and his fingers rest on my collar bone, all the while his kisses hold me captive.  His lips brush the same path down my neck, following his fingers, a half gasp half sigh escapes my lips as his hands are on by breasts, my head thrown back he is kissing my collar bone.  The sensation is electric as his thumbs brush against my nipples straining through the lace of my bra and the cotton of my business shirt.  My shirt is undone and pushed from my shoulders and as it slips to the floor, his mouth is at my breast, his teeth nipping their way around my hard pink nipple. He reaches around and with a well-practiced manoeuvre undoes the clips of my bra and in a moment it joins my shirt on the floor.  His hands and mouth are at my breasts, sucking and squeezing and driving me insane.  Each twirl of his tongue makes my pussy contract and I can feel myself soaking my knickers; God I want that mouth on my clit.   As if he read my mind, he pushes me back onto the table.  My skirt is pushed up revealing my knickers – I was right, they are soaked almost clear with my juices. He holds open my stocking clad legs and places my feet, shoes still on, on the edge of the table,  sitting back down in the leather chair he pulls it in close and using one hand to move the crotch of my knickers to the side, he uses the other to slip 2 fingers deep into my wet cunt.  In and out he slides, his knuckle pressing up against the nub of my clit and I thrust against it, moaning.

I feel him move and suddenly the finger fuck is in duet with a warm wet tongue licking my clit and sucking it into his mouth.  “Oh my Fucking God!”  I cry out almost over the edge.  “Please, please fuck me.”  The tantalising torment of my pussy and clit stops momentarily as I hear the jingle of a belt buckle and then I feel the hot head of a large cock against my pussy lips and I scream as it is thrust into me, stretching me wide, my clit dragging up and down its veined length as its massive head rubs over my g spot.   I move my hips to grind against it, glad at last to be filled and I’m over the edge and coming hard, my cunt hungrily contracting on his cock.

Suddenly I hear the sound of a loud ringing…fire bell?   What the…..I open my eyes to find myself in my bed.  Its 5.45am, the alarm clock is ringing madly beside me; my pyjamas are soaked with my juice as my pussy throbs under my hand.  Damn! There is no better way to wake up!




This is a reprise of my very first story based on an actual dream…still has the same effect on me as when I first wrote it…Hope it does for you too… J

Bettina’s Backdoor Girl

They’d told me she was a lesbian, everyone I’d met so far intimated that Mrs Philips had a thing going with our female CEO, and the impression I formed when I first saw her was that she certainly gave off that vibe. But she would surprise me.


When I entered her domain, a glass walled vestibule with a priceless view of the London cityscape, Mrs Philips looked up from the computer monitor on her desk and peered at me over the rims of her spectacles. While she treated me to a severe stare, intimidating, like an old-fashioned head mistress in one of the better schools, an image flashed into my mind of Mrs Philips wielding a cane, preparing to whip the backside of some wrongdoer for some kind of misdemeanour. I got the sense that she ruled her pool of secretaries with an iron fist inside a velvet glove. Her professional reputation was formidable; to get past Mrs Philips to the CEO required an appointment – No exceptions. And If anyone dared to try, I could just imagine her using the cane.


Her demeanour as she scrutinised me was cold, aloof, as though she had better things to be doing than introducing the new boy of the firm to the boss lady. “Mr Jamieson,” she said, stating a fact rather than asking a question. There was no doubt in her mind I was Paul Jamieson. I’d been summoned for an initial interview by my new boss, Alicia Banahan, the CEO, nobody else had business up there so, by default, in Mrs Philips’ eyes, I had to be Paul Jamieson. Alicia Banahan interviewed all new employees no matter how junior in rank, and it was time for my five minutes in front of the big cheese herself. But first there was Mrs Philips.


When Mrs Philips spoke, I detected a trace of an accent in her voice, this confirmed what my new colleagues had told me, Mrs Philips had Dutch roots, and I could hear the inflection when she spoke so the gossips had been correct on that score. It might be an odd thing to say but she looked Dutch – blonde hair, blue eyes, oval shaped face; very pretty in a stern, no nonsense way.


Mrs Philips rose and moved around her desk, hand extended. In her heels, Mrs Philips matched my height at over six feet, even out of those dangerous shoes she’d be tall, I noticed as she drew level with me. Her clothing matched her grooming, immaculate, as befitted her status as PA to the boss of an industrial powerhouse. The woman smiled at me, eyes meeting mine. ‘So pleased to meet you,’ she said, quickly shaking my hand. I took all of her in one look, long legs, narrow waist and a comfortable bust, all wrapped in a businesslike dark skirt and a pristine white button down blouse. I’d heard them say she was late thirties. ‘You’re a little early,’ she continued, ‘which is good.’  With an elegant sweep of a hand Mrs Philips indicated a large, comfortable looking leather chair. ‘Please, take a seat. Coffee?’


‘Water,’ I managed to stammer, a little overawed by the woman.


Mrs Philips smiled at my nervousness. ‘Try to relax,’ she said softly, mistaking my disquiet for anxiety at the impending interview rather than her presence. Mrs Philips seemed to warm to me, thawing a little. Perhaps she wasn’t as terrible as they said. ‘It’s just a chat with Alicia, nothing too horrendous.’ She went into a room off the main area, returning with a glass of water. ‘I must say,’ Mrs Philips said, standing in front of me, one hand on a hip while she tapped one arm of her spectacles, which she’d removed, against her red-painted lips, ‘you’re a beautiful looking man.’


Well that surprised me, and I was so shocked by the bald statement that I coughed water, almost spoiling my suit.


Mrs Philips smirked. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said with an amused glint in her eye, ‘but I tend to be a bit forthright. I say it as I see it. And I happen to think you’re a very good looking young man.’


What else could I do in the circumstances? Already nervous about meeting Alicia Banahan, and no less anxious in the presence of the legendary Mrs Philips, being a callow twenty-two years old, all I could summon from my expensive education and limited experience was an inarticulate: ‘Uh … Thanks.’


‘I love your hair.’ I thought she was actually going to take a step towards me and run her fingers through it. ‘Alicia will make a comment about getting it cut, but don’t.’ She tapped her spectacles against her chin, staring at me with blue eyes, her lips pursed. I squirmed under the intense scrutiny. ‘Do you have it highlighted?’ she asked.


I managed to warble, ‘No, no, natural,’ adding in my nervousness, ‘always been a dirty blond.’


What the fuck was I saying? Dirty blond? Shit.


To my relief, Mrs Philips laughed. Then she embarrassed me by adding: ‘Just how I like them.’


Was she flirting with me? She couldn’t be. She was a lesbian, or so they’d said.


Mrs Philips turned at the sound of a woman’s voice.


‘Is this Mr Jamieson, Bettina?’


Alicia Banahan, referring to her P.A. by her first name, stood in the open doorway at the opposite end of the room.


‘It is, Alicia,’ Mrs Philips replied. ‘On time and all set to see you.’


‘Excellent,’ the CEO said to Mrs Philips. She turned to me, inviting with a smile. ‘Come in,’ she said, and led me into her office.


I didn’t see Bettina Philips when the interview ended, she was absent from her desk as I passed through the atrium on my way back to the department I worked in. Part of me was relieved she wasn’t there at the conclusion of the interview, while another part of me was disappointed.


The company adopted a dress-down Friday policy, cost, five pounds, all for charity. I was in the staff cafeteria on the Friday morning when I spotted the tall blonde, noticing her striking presence, tall, leggy, absolutely superb backside in impossibly tight jeans, as soon as she entered the room. The Flabbergasted, I realised that it was Mrs Philips swinging and swaying through the cafeteria. That view was worth five British pounds of anyone’s money; I’d have paid fifty, despite my tiny salary, to watch Mrs Philips in her jeans, metronomic buttocks swinging as she confidently, almost arrogantly, strode through the room.


Later, upstairs, while I was meant to be working but where I just sat in a semi stupor revisiting the image of Mrs Philips in those jeans and pillar-box red shoes, my desk phone rang.


I recognised the accent immediately. ‘Mr Jamieson? Bettina Philips here.’


My first thought was I was in some kind of trouble. There was no reason for that initial impression, but I couldn’t think why Bettina would have any other cause to call me.


‘Come up to my office,’ she ordered. ‘Now, please.’ The line went dead. There was no option but to comply.


‘A drink, this evening, after work.’ From Bettina Philips it was a command, she wasn’t one of the bosses as such, but she was a subtle power in the company. She named a bar and I winced internally – pricey and bound to be full of pretentious wankers on a Friday night. Still, I had little choice; I just hoped my meagre salary could cope. ‘Oh,’ the formidable ice-maiden added, ‘and nobody in the building is to know.’ She eyed me imperiously. ‘You wouldn’t lose your job if you told anyone, but it would effectively kill your chances here. A word to Alicia from me and …’ An arched eyebrow emphasised the unspoken. ‘Unprofessional of me perhaps,’ she added. ‘But what can you do?’ Then she dismissed me with a shrug and a vague wave.


I spent the rest of the day wondering.


Her entrance caused heads to turn. Hungry eyes followed Bettina’s round buttocks tightly packed in blue denim, tracking her course from door to my table.


I was proved correct; the bar was chaos, rammed with dickheads already half cut at 6pm. No sooner had Mrs Philips’ jeans touched the seat of the high stool than a waiter appeared. Bettina ordered a drink. The man disappeared into the throng with the order.


Mrs Philips opened, forced to lean close because of the hubbub around us she spoke into my ear: ‘I’ll apologise for being so forward, and for the explicit threat I made, it’s just that I prefer to keep my private life private.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s bad enough as it is with them thinking I’m having it off with Alicia.’ Bettina laughed at my protestations to the contrary. ‘Oh please,’ she said. ‘I know what goes on, what they say.’ She reached out a hand. ‘Did Alicia suggest a hair cut?’ The change in subject and the touch of her fingers through my hair surprised me. ‘I told you she would,’ Bettina grinned after I stammered a confirmation. ‘I’m glad you haven’t cut it though,’ she finished.


The waiter arrived with our drinks. I hadn’t ordered another beer, but he’d brought one anyway. Just as I was worrying about how much this was going to cost me, Mrs Philips casually told the man to put it on the company tab. He smiled acquiescence, nodded, and pocketed a five pound note she handed him as a tip.


The next ten minutes saw us engage in banal conversation, office politics and potted life histories. I found out that Bettina had married Mr Philips, a much older gentleman, at the age of twenty. He’d lasted a year but she’d kept the appellation of Mrs. Simpler all round, apparently. She didn’t elaborate on the cause of the rift, not there in the bar, but I was to find out, in time, that Mr Philips was the one to thank for his former wife’s predilection towards anal sex.


‘Let’s get out of here,’ Mrs Philips instructed, in what I now recognised as her characteristically straightforward fashion. ‘I’ve got drinks at home.’ She eyed the crowded bar with disdain. ‘And I can’t stand this fucking row,’ she added.


Bettina’s a Back Door Girl


‘So, as I said just before your interview, Paul, you’re a beautiful looking man.’ Lost for a response I sipped from the bottle Bettina had handed me in her kitchen a few moments earlier, while the woman eyed me in a distinctly predatory fashion. Despite my disorientation at Bettina’s bold approach and the fact I was here in her luxurious, city apartment, her very desirability, not to mention incredible posterior, caused my cock to thicken in interest. There was definitely a sizzle of tension in the air. ‘Twenty-two?’ she asked. I sipped beer and nodded. ‘Perfect,’ Mrs Philips murmured, leading me into the flat’s sumptuous living room.


‘Come here, Paul,’ she said, placing her heavy, vodka-charged tumbler carelessly atop what looked to be an expensive coffee table. I took several steps to her. ‘I like you, Paul,’ the woman whispered. She ran her fingers through my hair again. ‘I think you’re sexy … Young and fit and sexy.’ She turned from me and walked across the room to turn a small dial on the wall. The lights immediately dimmed to seduction level. ‘And I like my boys young and fit and sexy.’


Oddly, of all things to notice, I noticed that Mrs Philips wasn’t wearing her glasses.


‘I wear contacts out of the office,’ she told me when I asked. ‘The glasses are purely for effect when I’m in professional mode. I know they make me look stern and severe … in a hot and sexy way,’ she added, grinning. ‘I like to tease them in the office.’ She paused and gave me a smouldering look. ‘I think some of the boys fantasise about me. Would you say that was true, Paul?’ She unpinned her hair, which she’d worn gathered in that casually messy style that is in fact difficult to achieve. I’d surreptitiously glanced at the wispy tendrils of blonde hair hanging decoratively by the woman’s ears for the hour I’d been in her company; I found her style alluring. ‘Do you think they think about me and pull their cocks’, Paul?’ Bettina sighed when her long hair cascaded free. Without waiting for my response, the woman went on. ‘I have some very special friends …’ She paused, staring at me again. My stomach flipped at the intensity in that look; I sensed something huge was coming my way. ‘I keep lovers, most of them about your age, fit, strong men who can keep it up for hours.’ I felt the heat from her eyes boring into me. My cock ached, pre-cum dribbling insidiously from its slit as Mrs Philips revealed more of her sex life to me in a low, husky voice. ‘Would you like to be one of my boys, Paul?’ she asked eventually.


I decided, or rather my penis decided that, yes please, we would. We wondered, my erection and I, just what being one of Bettina’s ‘boys’ entailed.


‘I think,’ the woman continued, taking my silence for approbation, ‘that I’d quite like you to be my special boy. The one who gets the thing none of the others do.’


How many boys were there?  Was this woman a nymphomaniac?


‘Do you know what my special boy does?’


I hadn’t a clue. ‘No, Mrs Philips,’ I responded, my erection pulsing, hands trembling.


‘Mrs Philips,’ Bettina laughed. ‘I like the way you say that, so formal. I wonder, Paul, will you call me Mrs Philips as you’re stabbing my ass with your cock?’ She pronounced it ass, like an American.


Stunned I blinked, my mouth hanging open like the village idiot. I’d be drooling from the mouth next instead of just my penis. It took me a moment to comprehend her meaning. Had I really heard that correctly? Mrs Philips wanted me to fuck her in her arse. The Special Boy got to give it to Bettina in the back door.


She came to me. Taking the beer bottle from my hand, she swigged a mouthful and then carelessly thunked the bottle onto the coffee table. When she kissed me, I felt a squirt of beer gush from her mouth and into mine.


‘Take your clothes off,’ Mrs Philips instructed. ‘Ooh yes,’ she enthused when I stood before her naked. ‘Somebody likes me.’ She nodded at my erection. ‘That’ll fill my ass nicely.’ The blonde grinned and said, ‘I think, as my husband so crudely put it years ago, that I’m going to enjoy having you packing my fudge.’ She pouted at me, adding: ‘That’s what I want, Paul; I want you to stuff my asshole with that cock. Stuff me so full of meat and then irrigate my rectum with your jizm.


She was incredible; the things she said to me were pure filth. I was shocked and surprised, inflamed with desire, and I’d do anything she wanted. If she wanted me up her jacksy then that’s what she’d get.


‘Mrs Philips,’ I moaned as she kissed me again.


She broke the kiss after stroking my cock a few times, and then pulled her tee-shirt over her head. When she turned and offered me her back I realised what she wanted and unclasped her bra. Next she teased me by unbuttoning her jeans and unzipping them, before looking back over one shoulder, blonde hair falling down her smooth, flawless back.


Mrs Philips eased the top of the jeans down to expose the cleft of her buttocks. ‘Do you like my ass?’ she asked. I gulped and nodded. She laughed. ‘Most men do … Oops, there’s a little more for you.’ The jeans slid lower, and a crescent moon of taut flesh made me gulp again. I touched my cock. ‘No, no,’ Mrs Philips scolded. The jeans came up an inch. ‘No touching dicky. Not until,’ she paused, smiling evilly, ‘not until Mrs Philips says you can, you naughty boy.’ I dropped my cock as though it burned my fingers. ‘That’s better. Now, here’s some more of my ass.’ Half of those globes were now revealed. ‘Would you like to kiss it,’ Mrs Philips invited, wriggling that part of her anatomy. ‘My husband loved to kiss it.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He also loved to take pictures of it …’ She paused, her eyes glinting as she lowered her jeans to the tops of her thighs. ‘And he loved to tongue my anus,’ she finally woman added in a whisper.


Moments later, with the jeans bunched at the back of her knees, Mrs Philips, still wearing the scarlet stilettos, knelt on a leather armchair, forearms along its back, and presented her derriere to me.


‘Lick me there,’ she hissed at me, eyes flashing diamonds. ‘Right there.’ A long fingernail pointed to the puckered stain of her sphincter as her fingers splayed her cheeks wide.


I fell on her instantly, dropping to my knees to worship at the altar of Bettina’s anus. I anointed the tight ring liberally, tasting the tang of her as my wet tongue squirmed into the forbidden opening.


‘Oh, fuck,’ Mrs Philips groaned. ‘So enthusiastic. I’ve never had one get straight to it like that, Paul. You’re so deep in there … that’s beautiful. I can feel you wriggling back there. You’re a natural ass man, Paul. Lick it. Tongue my dirty-hole.’


Not only did I lick Bettina’s sphincter, but I slurped and slobbered over her cunt as well. She gasped when I fingered her front and back simultaneously, groaning and calling me lewd names, exhorting me to filthier feats – and all for her pleasure.


‘My boys can use my cunt,’ she sighed. ‘But my special boy can have both. Do you want my cunt, Paul?’ Mrs Philips pushed me away from her body. I fell to the carpet, panting for breath. I was crazed with lust for the woman. ‘Or do you want to fuck me in the ass this time?’


‘I’ll tear your cunt up later,” I growled, my erection in my fist as I rose. ‘I’ll split your shitter first.’


Mrs Philips grinned up at me as she sat on the chair and divested herself of the shoes before struggling out of the restrictive jeans. ‘The worm has turned, eh, Paul? You’re going to tear up my cunt, are you? After you’ve fucked my ass? How delightfully wicked.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy you, Paul.’ Finally, after kicking the recalcitrant leggings away, she stood facing me. I had a few seconds to appreciate the full roundness of Bettina’s swaying breasts before she padded away from me on bare feet. ‘This way,’ she said, to the bedroom. I want to be comfortable when you jam my ass with your cock.’


I watched those buttocks as she moved away from me. Her accent and oddly formal diction aroused me almost as much as her body. I definitely had the impression there was more to Mrs Philips than taking it up the arse. I could easily imagine her at the centre of a gang-fuck. I wondered, very briefly since she was almost out of sight now, if she had her boys in a group, one of them, probably me now, pounding her back door while she took other men in her mouth and pussy.


Pushing that thought away, time enough later, I followed at a near run, my erection waggling ahead of me.


Her bedroom was a spacious arena, subtly lit, the focal point being a huge bed. The woman took a small tube of some kind of unguent, lube I was soon to discover, and pointed to the bed.


‘Lie down,’ she curtly instructed, typically Mrs Philips. She clambered onto the bed, kneeling next to me when I complied. The naked blonde took hold of my cock, sliding a fist along the length. She leaned down and kissed me again while I reached for her breasts. She broke the kiss and offered a long, thick nipple to me. I sucked at it, transferring my oral attention to its twin as I cupped those heavy tits in my palms. The woman murmured something indistinct, her hand moving faster on my cock.


Finally a low growl came from her throat. She slid the tube under a pillow next to me and, still making that low rumbling sound, swung a leg over my head. Her sex pouted inches from my face. I knew what she wanted. I took hold of the woman’s hips and pulled her down to my mouth. I heard her gasp when my tongue probed at the sluicing opening at the front of her body; another groan curdled from her when my forefinger popped her sphincter. I groaned myself when, after a brief waft of Mrs Philips’ breath across my thighs, I felt her swallow my erection.


Her sodden vulva, smoothly waxed, mashed against my lips. The blonde’s hips jerked as she fucked down onto my face, her clit sliding over the protuberance of my nose. She began to moan in earnest, lust obviously boiling inside her as desire slid from her cunt.


In reciprocation I bucked my hips, forcing gristle into the back of her throat. It was too much and she gagged and coughed, spitting my drool-soaked penis out of her mouth, her eyes watering.


‘Later,’ she gasped. ‘I’ll let you use my mouth later. But now I want you in there.’ She spun away from me, a knee brushing the tip of my nose in her haste. The woman stood at the side of the bed and I rolled onto my side to see her. ‘In my ass,’ she said, pointing to her buttocks. ‘Fuck my ass and make me scream.’


Whatever the lady desired …


‘It’s the control,’ Mrs Philips explained nonchalantly as she squirted a dollop of gunk onto a fingertip. ‘It might seem like I’m being submissive, letting you do me in my ass.’ She leaned forward, breasts hanging, and smeared the gloop over the dome of my cock-head. ‘But I’m in control. It’s only you, my special boy, who I allow in there. And if I don’t allow it, it doesn’t happen. Men, usually because they want to please me, and a horny man will agree to anything, are only too eager to comply with my every command.’ She lay on the bed on her stomach. ‘Squelch a drop of lube on my ass,’ she said, spreading her buttocks. ‘Even with a man wedged deep in my ass,’ she continued. ‘Even if he’s as horny as a hound with two cocks, I still call the shots. They know that if I’m not pleased then there’ll be no more of me for them.’ With her anus slick and glistening, Bettina rolled onto her side to appraise me with a serious, blue-eyed stare. ‘I’m going to let you fuck my ass, but I’m in control, Special Boy.’ I nodded, I understood. Mrs Philips spat curt instructions. ‘On your back. Lift your cock upright.’ She straddled me, her exquisite body hovering over my supine form. ‘Here I come,’ she muttered, her face a mask of concentration. ‘Easy,’ she said when my cock head nudged her body. ‘Nice and slow.’ I felt the natural resistance when the blunt dome pressed against her. ‘It’s going to pop,’ she said in a dark, treacly voice. ‘Slowly,’ she urged, grimacing with effort of balancing atop my hard cock. ‘My dirty-hole doesn’t want to let that big fucker in,’ Mrs Philips grunted, eyes closed, head lolling. Then I felt something give and she squealed. I felt her anus opening before me as I slid in deep. ‘Oh, fuck, that burns so fucking much,’ the blonde gasped, eyes wide. She looked down at me, her mouth hanging slack. ‘It burns my ass, it’s itchy. Fuck my nasty ass.’


I held her hips tightly as she began to ride up and down on my cock. Her breasts swung and shivered as she screwed her anus around my penis. The woman angled her body in such a way that I remained wedged inside her as she leaned low over me to kiss me. Panting into my open mouth while our tongues danced wetly, Mrs Philips jerked her hips, somehow maintaining the incredible pressure at the point in which our bodies joined.


‘Mrs Philips,’ I burbled, ‘If you keep this up, I’ll …’


‘Will you come in my ass?’ she asked, eyes wide with expectation. She was upright again now, hands spread across my chest as she jerked her hips quickly back and forth. Will you come in my ass and bathe my anus with semen?’


If she kept on moving like that, and if she continued to use the sewer language, then I’d be sure to squirt my load into her dirty-hole.


‘Not yet,’ she gasped as she swung her leg over me to dismount. ‘I want to come too, but I need something in my cunt and on my clit.’ She leaned across me and opened a drawer. When she returned she held a thick rubber cock and a small vibrator in her hands. ‘Now,’ she said gleefully, rolling onto her side. ‘Now we can do some damage.’ She offered her derriere, tight buttocks pressing against my stomach. ‘Put it back into my ass. Really fuck me. Hold my hips and bang the shit out of me.’ She laughed at the pun.


I did as I was told, gripping the jutting promontory of her uppermost hip after I slid back in. The tight ring of her sphincter gripped my cock at its root. She had all of me buried in there but still angled her hips so her bottom could accommodate as much of my length as I could stuff into her. She lifted one leg to expose her vulva to the angry buzz of the vibrator, its tone rising and falling as Mrs Philips rubbed the thing around and around the area of her clitoris. Then I felt something pushing against my cock, a force from in front of her body, and realised it was the rubber cock wedged in her pussy.


‘Fuck my ass,’ the woman sighed as she jammed the dildo into her other hole.


We fell into a rhythm of slick, squelching fucking. Liquid slurps and obscene farts accompanied us when Mrs Philips stabbed her cunt with the rubber cock and I slid my goo-smeared cock half out of her backside. We reversed the process, her withdrawing the dildo when I thrust back into the dark hole of her anus, keeping with that lewd cadence until everything clouded for me. Every empirical sense was overloaded. The sounds, the buzzing vibrator, the obscene squelching from the rubber cock in her cunt, the slick fapping of my own erection sliding through the gloop foaming at our conjunction, Bettina’s moans and filthy vocabulary were just part of it, there were also the sensations in my cock as her body fought to repel me. I could feel the pressure from the rubber thing in her cunt, through the thin membrane that separated the two invading shafts. The texture of her skin under my fingers; the smell of her hair in my nostrils …


‘Mrs Philips …’ I warned.


‘Do it. I’m going to come too. Just do it. Let it go. Fill me up with spunk …’


I recall, dimly, biting into her shoulder as the stuff spurted from me, bathing her sphincter. I think I took a handful of hair and roughly yanked her head back, twisting her neck as I wedged my cock deeper into her rectum and discharged the gooey load of jizm. We kissed, I’m sure of that. I held her head at such an awkward angle, craning over her as far as I could as we both let the pleasure cascade over us, my mouth against hers, our tongues quick and ardent.


Finally, as sensibility returned, we lay, still joined at her back door, panting and not quite believing how intense the experience had been for both of us.


A chuckle curdled from the woman when, eventually, my diminishing cock slid from her body. As soon as I slid from her a rush of some obscene gloop dribbled from the opening I’d vacated. The slide of santorum stained the bedcover, but no doubt she could afford a replacement.


The woman hefted herself onto her opposite side, facing me. I looked down and saw the rubber cock hanging from the sticky mess of her vulva like an impudent tongue.


‘Bettina’s a back-door girl,’ the woman snickered, referring to herself in the third person. ‘You can use my cunt if you like,’ she added. ‘But in my ass is the best.’


I was inclined to agree.

Outdoor Play

When Sarah got back to her room she flopped on the bed thanking God that her parents still had not left the pool area.

What just happened? She thought. She kept thinking and replaying the last few minutes in her head. She wasn’t doing herself any favours though. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his own piercing right through her, felt his hands on her skin and imagined his mouth moving over hers. Then there was the matter of what he had done to other parts of her body with his tongue…

Sarah shot out of bed and decided to take a cold shower. That’s what people did in situations like these, or so she had heard. Sarah shook her head at her lack of carnal knowledge. How could one person be so hopeless?

She took off her bikini but before she stepped into the shower she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She could see everything above her calves and was bathed in natural sunlight. She felt an odd, growing sense of appreciation for her body now. How odd she thought, that it took one man to look at her with desire to make her recognize that her body was capable of inspiring those kinds of feelings. She touched the breast that he had so passionately taken into his mouth and wondered what he had gotten out of it. Was that as pleasurable for him as it was for her? She didn’t think that could be possible. She reached down in between the folds of her womanhood and pulled her hand back, surprised at how wet she was.

Now that would have been embarrassing she thought. What would he have thought if he had ventured there during their brief encounter? Surely more experienced women would not have gotten as excited by what they had done. Somehow, Sarah thought, her arousal would have betrayed her inexperience.

Sarah shuddered as the cold water hit her skin. This isn’t helping, she thought, this is just massively unpleasant. She turned on the hot water and instantly felt herself relaxing. As she rubbed the soap on her skin she imagined it was his hands. She sobered up immediately when she heard the bathroom door open and her parents announce their presence.

“Sarah! You wouldn’t believe the stories the bartender downstairs told us!”

Sarah closed her eyes, fighting the headache that was threatening to come as her parents continued sharing the bartender’s tales of wayward past guests.

An hour later Sarah felt slightly guilty as her already dressed parents watched in confusion at her inability to choose a suitable outfit for dinner.

“Honey just pick one! It’s just dinner!”

Sarah ignored her Father’s pleas as she stood there in her PJs deciding between a sweet little, short-sleeved floral number she had bought specifically for the trip or a long, halter, form-fitting black maxi-dress with a deep v-cut that she had bought on a dare. It was the difference between being herself and looking like a sexier version of herself. But, the floral one did show off her legs which her friends (girls of course) had always told her were pretty.

“Here,” her dad said, “Let’s flip for it. Heads you wear the black, tails you wear the short one, sheesh!”

Sheesh is right Sarah thought. She watched nervously as the coin flipped in the air and landed on her Dad’s palm. He slapped it on the back of his hand and kept it covered.

“You ready?” he asked.

Sarah looked at him with impatient eyes.

He took his hand off and said the word she only just realized she had been fearing.


Sarah’s heart was thumping so hard when they reached the dining area that she was positive her parents could hear it. She tried to play it cool but couldn’t stop herself from scanning the room for her mysterious man.

I don’t even know his name! She thought. And he doesn’t know yours, a voice inside her head answered back. Sarah shook her head. This was a disaster of mega-proportions. She looked down at her watch, it was already a quarter to eight and there was no sign of him. As she sat down at their table she felt very silly all of a sudden in her sexy, black, ‘I’m all grown up’ dress. The back was too low to wear a bra and despite the thickness of the material, she felt hyper-aware of her immediate nudity under the cloth.

Screw him, she thought and looked up. At that moment her eyes locked with a now familiar pair of hazel ones and she felt as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. He stood with one hand in his pocket and the other stroking his chin as he looked at her. He looked impossibly handsome in a fitted, white, button-down, cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows and dark slacks. His hair was gleaming and brushed off his face. The waiter was busy clearing his table but he clearly didn’t care.

Sarah felt the heat intensifying between them as he lowered his gaze to her chest. He paused there for a moment and Sarah saw his jaw working. It’s as if he was trying to hold himself back from something. Sarah inhaled sharply at the thought of what it could be. He looked at her face once more and smiled a slow, knowing smile and then sat down and thanked the waiter for his quick work.

Sarah’s feelings went from desire to slight annoyance. Is this really what he’s going to do? He’s going to sit in her line of sight while she tries to have dinner with her parents? Maybe that’s how he gets his kicks, making girls like her squirm by knowingly putting them in awkward situations.

“You ready to get in line Sarah?” her Mother asked.

“What?” she asked confused.

Her mother pointed at the tables to the side filled with numerous trays of delectable gourmet concoctions. “The buffet dear, we did come here to eat didn’t we?”

Sarah swallowed hard and got up. She forgot it was buffet night. She was so lost in her thoughts about that man. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him get up and follow close behind them. Half of her hoped he would find himself behind her and the other half prayed he would stay away. They formed a line at the plates, Sarah’s Mom first, then her Dad then her. She felt someone step in behind her and didn’t dare look back. Instead she straightened her shoulders and kept her gaze straight ahead with almost marine-like discipline.

As soon as she thought she had gained control of the situation Sarah felt warm knuckles gently tracing her lower back which was exposed. She arched forward and gasped which caught the attention of her Father. Sarah began to fake cough.

“You okay dear?” he asked.

Sarah nodded and he turned around. She looked over her shoulder and immediately felt a mixture of desire and annoyance. He had a nerve to smile at her that bastard! She gave him a look and motioned with her head to her parents. He looked at them and gave a slight nod. She hoped that meant he would behave.

They continued down the line without incident and Sarah followed her parents back to their table.

When they began to eat, some servers came out with complimentary drinks. Her Dad took one but her Mother declined. Before the waitress could ask Sarah what she wanted, her Mom informed her that she wouldn’t want any. Sarah felt a flush of embarrassment. She wasn’t big on drinking anyway but she wished her Mother hadn’t been so quick to speak for her.

They continued to eat and chit-chat. Sarah tried her best to ignore those beautiful eyes that she sensed had not stopped looking at her since they sat down. Somehow she didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. It now made her feel strong and confident. She decided to glance at him and her fingers tightened around her fork at what she saw.

A waitress was offering him a complimentary drink and she was clearly in flirt mode. He smiled at her and took a drink from her tray. Sarah got annoyed when the waitress stayed there chatting with him. He was smiling and nodding at her way too much. What could possibly be so interesting? Sarah observed the waitress’s slim but curvy figure, large breasts and blond hair and suddenly felt inadequate. A guy who looks like that certainly wants a woman that looks like her. When the waitress bent down to whisper in his ear Sarah almost broke the fork in half.

He looked at her then and Sarah looked at her plate and kept on eating. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of observing her jealousy. When she looked back up she saw the waitress leave his table but not before giving him a sly wink.

Filled with disgust Sarah excused herself to go to the bathroom which was all the way in the lobby. Once in the bathroom Sarah splashed her face with water, mentally patting her back for using waterproof mascara that night. She took some of the cold water and patted it on the nape of her neck which felt hot and tense. That was it. No more games, no more flirtations. Handsome men are to be admired from afar but never engaged.

Satisfied with her assessment of her situation Sarah left the bathroom determined to no longer give this man the time of day. As she made her way to the lobby she stopped by one of the mirrors to make sure everything was intact. She looked down and noticed her hem had gotten caught in the buckle of her sandal. She bent down to undo it. As she came back up there he stood, leaning against the mirror looking at her.

She gave him a stern, withering look. “What do you want?”

He looked at her confused, “Hey hey hey! What’s with the attitude?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask your blonde sexpot?”

Sarah couldn’t believe how ridiculous and immature she sounded but he just inspired such strong feelings in her.

“What are you talking about? That…the waitress?” he looked at her disappointed, “You can’t be serious.”

“Listen, I don’t know if this is some weird thing you like to do on vacation but I suggest you find a more willing participant, I’m sure it won’t be difficult for you. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Sarah turned to leave but he took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him.

“Was she flirting with me? Yes. I’m sorry, I can’t control how other people behave. I’m sure many guys give you unwanted attention.”

Not really, Sarah thought.

“She asked me to find her after her shift was done but I am in no way interested. What you saw was my attempt to be polite.”

“Whatever,” Sarah said dismissively, “It’s really not any of my business what you do or who you do it with.”

He let go of her shoulders and looked down at her. His jaw was working again but this time Sarah could feel the air crackling between them.

She cautiously turned away from him and walked back to her table.

When she got back to the dining area, the band had already started up. Sure enough her parents were cutting it up on the dance floor. They certainly didn’t waste any time Sarah thought and smiled. She went to her table and downed the rest of her soda. She was about to sit when a strong, muscled arm snaked across her waist and she was being led, quite powerfully and without question to the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

He didn’t answer. Instead he pulled her close and began moving to the rhythm of the now slow song. She saw her parents sidle up to them and panicked.

“My my Sarah it seems you’ve found yourself quite the dance partner!” her Mother said.

“Oh, is she your daughter?” he asked so very politely.

“She surely is” her Dad said.

“I hope you don’t mind me stealing her for a dance or two” he said.

“Oh no! Not at all” her Mother said a little too eagerly. Sarah’s Dad wiggled his eyebrows at her and she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“What’s your name son?” her Dad asked.

He looked into Sarah’s eyes then and said “Aidan”. He looked back at her parents and extended his hand. “My name’s Aidan”

“Nice to meet you Aidan” Sarah’s father said as he shook his hand. “I’m Roger and this is my wife Lana”

“It’s lovely to meet you both.”

“Ok, that’s enough introduction, you two continue dancing” her Mother said with a wink.

Sarah’s parents danced away and she was once again alone with Aidan.

Aidan took her hands and put them around his neck, resting his hands loosely on her waist. Sarah tried to pull back but he held her firmly.

“Why did you do that Aidan?”

“To show you that I’m not some sort of flake.”

“I see.”

“You can go ahead and ignore this thing between us if you want. But don’t do that because you think I’m trying to be some kind of Don Juan. I’m not that kind of guy. I’m not an angel and I’ve been around the block, I’ll give you that. But that got old pretty fast.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say or think. Why was he telling her this? What was he trying to gain? She had given him an out and he obviously didn’t want to take it. What was it that he saw in her exactly?

“Why me?” she blurted out.

The question seemed to stun him.

“First of all you’re beautiful. You’re not one of those cookie-cutter types that are somewhat ubiquitous. You’ve got a look that is all your own and it does something to me. Something I can’t explain.”

She began to smile and blush at the same time.

“And secondly, I like that you don’t seem to realize just how sexy you are. You wear it so nonchalantly. You think no one notices you but believe me they do.”

Sarah felt her breathing get shallow and her pulse quicken.

He pulled her close and rested his mouth against her ear.

“Then there is, of course, the matter of the way you kiss…”

Sarah felt her knees get weak and a flood of desire barrelled through her.

Her parents came up to them and informed her that they were going to go back to the room. Sarah offered to follow them but they insisted that it was still early and that she stay and enjoy the rest of the night.

“You didn’t even get to have dessert dear” her Mother said, “try the cheesecake, it was mouth watering.”

She looked at Aidan and then back at Sarah, “You two be good now.”

Sarah watched in awe as her parents left her with Aidan. Didn’t they see how devastatingly handsome he was?

“Well it appears you’ve won them over. Imagine that! Letting their daughter loose in the wolf pack!”

“So I’m a wolf now?”

Sarah looked at him afraid that she had hurt his feelings but saw instead that he was smiling.

She laughed and they began to dance once more, this time it was a faster song and Sarah squealed as Aidan grabbed and twirled her never missing a beat.

“Do you want to get some fresh air with me Sarah?” Aidan asked as they stood there panting.

She loved the way her name sounded on his tongue. “Yes and some water” she replied.

They went to the bar and got a bottle to share between them and started walking towards the gardens in the resort compound. The moon was so full and bright that the dim lights along the path were scarcely needed.

They found an ornate looking bench and sat down on it. Aidan put his arm around her bare shoulders. They sat there quietly enjoying each other’s company. Sarah drank her fill of water and passed it to Aidan. She sat back and folded her hands in her lap. She felt suddenly aware of him and caught him looking at her chest. She inhaled deeply and he shifted as her chest swelled into the fabric.

He set the water down and grabbed her face. Sarah didn’t wait and pressed her lips into his. His hands quickly moved to her waist and he pulled her close to him, as close as they could possibly get. Sarah angled herself so that she could put her hands on his chest. He parted her mouth open with his tongue and began to lick her lips gently. She pressed into him wanting more and he obliged, thrusting his tongue deeper so that she could rub hers against his. She closed her lips around his tongue and revelled in the feeling of it slowly slipping out of her mouth. He began to nibble at her upper lip and she let out a sigh of content.

He moved his hand down to her neck and grasped it fully. He squeezed gently and she felt her arousal spike. He kept his hand there and turned her head slightly. He bent his head to kiss and nibble her neck right where he could feel the pulse of her heartbeat. She moaned at the intensity of the feeling.

He let go of her and started to rub her arms slowly from her shoulders to her hands and back up again.

“Undo your dress” he said.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Just for a minute”

Sarah reached up with trembling fingers and undid the tie at her neck. She inhaled sharply and straightened her back as the material fell and her breasts were exposed to the chilled night air.

Aidan looked at her breasts not saying anything. She tried hard to regulate her breathing but found it extremely difficult. They sat there silent. He watched her chest rise and fall with every breath. She felt beautiful and vulnerable and confused all at once. What was he trying to do to her?

She almost cried out when he reached out and put his hand over her heart. He put other arm around her waist and squeezed her to him.

“Your heart’s racing” he said, his voice husky.

Sarah nodded.

He moved his hand to cup her left breast and squeezed it firmly. She bit her lip and groaned. He dragged his hand slowly across and cupped the right one and did the same. Then he grabbed her around her waist and lifted her on top of him in one swift motion. She straddled him and could feel him rock hard and pressing against her womanhood.

He hoisted her up so that her breasts were in his face and used his hand to guide her right nipple into his mouth. He sucked and kissed and nibbled it and she felt her hips moving against him. He did the same to the left and she put her hands in his hair and pressed herself into him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed his way up her throat. She bent her head and began to kiss him. It was an unbridled, passionate kiss that took them both by surprise.

He pushed her back slightly and smiled at her sigh of disappointment.

He took his thumb and pressed it against the top of her labia. He began to rub in slow circles. Even through two layers of fabric she could feel him brushing against her throbbing nub of pleasure. Sarah groaned, tilted her head back and began to work her hips against his thumb.

“Let me see” he said.

She stumbled off of him and stood up, the dress slipping all the way down to her hips now. She was bathed in moonlight and he was looking at her like she was the only woman in the world.

She bent down and lifted the dress up, gathering it at her waist. He looked at her white lace panties and inhaled sharply.

“Come closer” he said.

Sarah stepped closer to him as best she could with weak knees. He reached up and pulled her panties down to her knees. She felt so exposed but so full of desire that she didn’t care. He took his finger and slipped it in between her folds. Sarah stifled a moan as he slowly rubbed his finger along her inner lips up to her clitoris and then back down to the yet untouched entrance.

He took his hand away and rubbed his fingers together.

“You’re extremely wet” he said, his voice thick with desire.

Sarah nodded and asked, “Is that bad? I mean, do you not…”

Sarah was mid-sentence when he grabbed her buttocks with his hand and puller her closer to his mouth. He kissed her on her pubic bone and lingered there, nibbling gently on her flesh before moving slightly lower. Sarah reached down and grasped his shoulders. He began to run his tongue along the area just above her clitoris making sure to not venture too close to it.

“Oh my God” Sarah whispered.

Suddenly she heard laughter and footsteps coming towards them. Sarah gasped and pushed Aidan away and hurriedly pulled up her panties. He got up and helped her tie her dress and grabbed her hand.

They walked to another area of the garden that was quiet and unpopulated.

He leaned against a tree and pulled her in a tight embrace. They were both breathing heavily. She rested her head against his chest and he ran his hands slowly and sensually up and down her back.

“What do you want to do?” he whispered.

Stranger with no name

I was taken by him…… a spontaneous moment of passion , this man had made me feel completely out of control.And I loved  every minute of it.


I lay on the sunlounger, soaking up the sun on the lovely white sandy beach.I can hear the sound of the ocean  in the distance as my eyes are closed under my sunglasses.

I hear his voice first, deep and low. A shadow casts over my glasses,and I open my eyes to look who it is .

I can just make out his dark hair and smiling face as the sun shines behind his large frame.


“Would you mind ? “ he gestures to the empty lounger to the side of me.


“Erm ….no, not at all “ I reply . I remove my glasses for a second out of politeness,and smile back at him, then I turn over onto my front.


We continue  a light hearted conversation as he lays out his towel and applies some sunscreen. I think about mine, maybe I should apply some more now, as the sun gets very hot at this time of day.It sat in my bag to the side of me, should I reach down to get it ?


I reach down and retrieve it from my bag .I rub it in , all over my skin ,and as I look  up, he’s watching me .


“Would you like some help with that …..I could do your back for you if you like ?”  he smiles


Even only after a few minutes of conversation, I feel quite comfortable with this man I  hadve never met before.There is an attraction for sure and what harm could letting him put my sunscreen on do ?


“Oh, If you wouldn’t  mind ? ……only I struggle  to do my back ….. thanks ! “ .


I hand the lotion over to him and lay down on my tummy. I feel his hands touch my shoulders, it makes me shiver, his touch is firm as he proceeds to rub it in in circular motions over my back.


The feel of his strong hands on me is arousing . Its  like his touch is electric.Sending impulses through me , making me wet between my legs, right  here on the beach.

As he reaches my waist , his hands slide around, massaging over my hips, and I am breathing  heavier by this point.

“Is that okay ? “ he leans down beside me, whispering in my ear .”Would you like me to do the backs of your legs ? “ .


“Yes please !” I reply breathlessly , my voice almost a croak.

I continue to let his hands caress over my body , up and down the length of my legs, massaging my calves, my thighs, his fingers getting so close to my pussy as they slide up and down my thighs.


My heart is beating fast in my chest .I don’t dare move from my position.

I feel his lips brush my ear as he speaks to me.

“ Would you like to go get a drink ? “  his voice  vibrates through me , sending a shiver down my spine.

“Oh, erm ….yes , thanks “ I reply sitting up on the lounger.As I look up at him , he’s smilrking .

“Was that okay for you ? “ .

A little embarrassed that he’d sensed how good it had been , I stammered my answer ,yes and  stood up to gather my things together. He grabbed my arm, and looked straight into my eyes. I knew exactly what he was thinking as I looked directly back at him.


He takes hold of my hand and we walk across the beach . Up ahead is a changing block, set further away from the main part of the beach .It’s quieter , and almost deserted .

As we reach the doorway, he pulls me inside , and straight away I’m in his arms .


His lips are pressing into mine , hands on my waist ,pushing me up against the wall .



“Ohhh god ….” I breathed heavily as his lips kissed down my neck and onto my shoulder.



His hands slip into the top of my bikini bottoms , sliding them down my thighs.I step out of them as they fall around my ankles.

He moves himself between my now open thighs , his shorts now discarded .on the floor


My breath is coming so fast , I feel his against my ear , almost panting as he guides his hard cock to my pussy . I feel it at my opening, pushing inside in one smooth movement, It takes my breath away as it fills me ,my wetness enveloping his full length , so deep.


Our lips meet , we kiss each other hard as he begins thrusting into me . An animal lust seems to take over his body and mind , harder and faster he forces himself inside me .


His hand grips my high , raising it up , I wrap it around him .A soft moan  escapes my lips as I feel my orgasm building inside.The feeling of his hard cock, sliding in and out of my pussy , the front of him rubbing against my clit as we move against each other. He’s pressing deeper into me with each thrust of his hips , arousing me more and more.


“Oh god….fuck me harder “ I pant , my words seem to urge him on .


He moans deeply into my shoulder and then I feel his cum rush inside me, so hard ., he jerks again and again into me , grunting with each thrust of his hips.

As we breathe heavily against each other , our sweat covered bodies sticking together in the heat and passion,I feel his warm cum running out of my pussy and down my inner thigh.


My head is buried against his chest now, as I get my breathing back to normal.I want to look up into his face .

I feel his hand on my chin , and he tilts my face up towards him , and looks into my eyes.


“I never asked you your name “ he says , looking at me smiling, questioningly.


“I never asked you yours either “ I smile up at him.

I want to confess

I want to confess.
To something I haven’t done yet.
Oh but I want to !

At least I think I do.

I want to rip open his shirt and run my hands down his chest. Will it be hairy? Yes, just a little bit I think. Enough to tickle and excite my nipples as they brush over it, but I get ahead of myself…

First when we finally maneuver ourselves to a place where we are alone, he will take advantage of our isolation and kiss me long and hard. I will offer no resistance, a willing partner in this exciting exploration. I will reach down. There is nothing soft about him. He is one hundred percent man. He will quickly learn I am all woman. I will let him touch what his eyes have already coveted. I want him to touch me. I want to feel his hands. They are big hands. Will they be smooth or rough? I think rough. From his days spent in hard work. I imagine them bruising my flesh, holding me firmly against him, above him, below him…, but again I am getting carried away…

He will show restraint and stop me before I get to unbuckle his jeans and release his erect member. Instead I will feel it pulsing through the denim. He will bring me back up to his eye level so that he can kiss me again with his hard lips. I am momentarily weak and in his control. He moves his mouth from mine trailing it down my delicate throat and along the sensitive skin of my collarbone. I will fall limp like a rag doll. Kiss my neck and I am putty. Goosebumps flare across my skin just from the thought of it.

His hands will roam my body over my clothes trying to find a way in. I will do the same only with faster results. I’ll reach his firm prick first causing him to halt his assault on my buttons. It’ll be a tight fit, my hand and his raging cock inside his jeans. This time he’ll offer no resistance to my lowering of his zipper, letting his cock spring forth like a Jack-in-the-Box. I will laugh. Even in sexy moments like this, some things are funny. I hope he doesn’t think I am laughing at him.

To show him I’m not I will drop to my knees to take him in my mouth. I wonder what it will be like… Will it be long and thin and work like a wand? Will he use it with wizardry hitting magical places deep in my core? Or will it be thick, filling and thoroughly satisfying? Stretching me to my limit. Maybe it will just be of average length and girth but used with great skill. To be honest I don’t really care, if he can use it to a tenth of my imaginings, I’ll be a happy woman.

And it won’t take too long to find out! He will spin me around and take me from behind. Pants around our ankles, standing legs straight, bent at the waist holding onto the wall for support, I’ll meet each urgent thrust with a push of my own. It’s like a teenage fuck but with superior skills only time and practice grants the participants. He won’t forget me, reaching around to stroke my clit, not that the extra stimulation is required, it is enough to finally have these dreams realised.

Maybe we’ll have the luxury of time and space. A bed to recline on. My legs spread wide, his tongue wreaking havoc on my throbbing pussy. At last able to lick and tease my most excitable of places. The warmth of his breath alone will nearly be enough to make me cum, hell, I’m all but there now just thinking about it. Naturally, he will bring me to orgasm repeatedly using a variety of techniques.

I will straddle his chest and make him watch me holding my firm round breasts. I will play with myself knowing it is what he longs to do. I will reverse my position to give him an eyeful whilst I gently tease his cock to new heights of the sweetest tension. I will taunt and torment his patience but will he remain passive or take control? I think he will want to show off his physical strength. Perhaps by flipping our positions and pinning me down to apply his own brand of vexation, or by pounding me hard with no thought or care to my needs, just as long as he finds his own gratification. I’d be satisfied with either outcome. I want him to use me in any way of his choosing, as long as I get my own turn to lead from time to time.

Our sex may be brief, it may last all night, it may be taken in bite sized pieces over days,weeks and months. It may all stay in my mind. I’ve not decided.

But if I look closely at him, carefully, piece by piece… And if I really think about my desires, dreams, fantasies…  I have him already.  A lover so great, so tender, so exciting, so rough, so orgasmic that my friends all want a taste. There is no need to look outside of what I already have. The grass will never be greener than what already surrounds my home.

So shhh, don’t tell my husband I decided to continue this affair……….with him.

Naughty Stories

Hi all, I love telling naughty stories please give me some ideas and I will write them for you.


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