Dirty Harriet Goes Dogging By Dirty Harriet

Harriet sat at the bar, her little black dress riding half way up her thigh. The glow of the back-bar offering little in the way of actual light, but making her pale white skin glow. She sipped her daiquiri, enjoying the light burn of the alcohol as it ran down the back of her throat.

There were a group of city boys in a booth behind her, laughing and drinking and no doubt checking out her arse. One had offered to buy her a drink earlier, but she’d politely declined. She didn’t want to be fending him and his mates off all evening. She’d ignored his comment as he’d walked away, which might have been “bitch”.

It didn’t look like anyone interesting was in tonight, but that served her right for going out on a Thursday. She’d been bored at home. Her shift as a Police Officer had finished hours ago and for some reason she still had energy. Actually, she knew why. She’d been single for almost three months, and she had an itch that needed scratching.

There weren’t any men of interest in the bar so she threw back the remains of her drink and stood up, adjusting her dress again, leaning just a little forward to give the barman a view of her ample cleavage. He smiled at her, but he was too pretty, not her type. He’d be delicate and gentle and that wasn’t what she needed right now.

Harriet turned and headed towards the door, that’s when she saw him. He stepped off a motorbike, his leg swinging over the back of it. She noticed he looked fit, like he worked out. A lot. His tight black leather trousers clung to his buttocks for dear life, and they hugged his muscular legs like they’d been painted on.

She couldn’t see his face as he had a helmet on, but she slowed her strides, watching him, waiting. Anticipating the disappointment she was sure to come.

He pulled off his helmet, but he had his back to her and she couldn’t see him properly. She leaned her head to the side, but it wasn’t far enough. This back was wide, broad shoulders and a tapered waist, a clearly visible V-shape that singled him out as a swimmer or bodybuilder.

Harriet was nearly at the door, she couldn’t very well walk out and notice him and then follow him back inside. That was too stalkerish.

Then he turned around.

For a moment Harriet couldn’t breathe. His jet black hair was cut army-short, his stubble was just a little longer than was fashionable, but Harriet thought it might not scratch her face if they kissed. His big brown eyes almost stopped her dead in her tracks. His Roman nose was situated perfectly on his face so that it didn’t look too big, and his full lips complimented it effortlessly. His jutting chin gave him such a strong jawline, he looked like he could bite off a hunk of meat and swallow the mouthful down whole.

She continued moving but struggled to take hold of the door’s large steel handle.

As she fumbled with it the biker turned towards her. He smiled through the glass door, she was too busy staring at him to concentrate on what she was doing with her hands and she just grasped and pushed and made no headway at all trying to open the door.

The man raised an eyebrow at her and pulled the door open, sweeping his arm aside like a footman opening a door for the princess. Harriet smiled, not sure what she was still doing with her hands, clasping at her purse. She sidled through the space, stopping right in front of him.

He was nearly six inches taller than her Amazonian frame.

Their faces were just inches apart, Harriet looking up at him with her own beautiful green eyes. She could feel the heat of him despite the chill of the November night. She imagined she could feel his heart beating faster at her closeness. His chest was millimetres from hers, her ample bosoms pressing tightly against the cloth of her dress.

For a moment she stayed there. Staring into his eyes. Wishing away everything else. Harriet fell in lust with him at that moment. She gazed into those deep, dark, beautiful eyes, willing herself away.

“Hello”, he said to her. She felt his breath on his cheek before she heard the word. She forced herself not to close her eyes and fall away. His voice was deep, booming almost, like a vibration of the air between them as much as a sound.

Harriet opened her mouth to speak, wanting to say something, willing herself to speak.

“H… “ her voice cracked, embarrassment raised its head, “Hi,” she managed finally. Then she smiled.

There was an immediate energy between the two of them. If it had been alight before and not just in Harriet’s imagination, now it was a blazing fire of heat between them.

They stayed like that, standing face to face, not speaking, not moving, just staring into each other’s eyes for the longest moment.

Then the city boys opened the second of the double doors and stepped out behind Harriet. She barely noticed, and didn’t look away from her new friend. She could feel their eyes on her vaguely, scanning her body, checking her out. She didn’t care. They didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the man in front of her.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked her, barely whispering. It felt like he was talking directly into her ear, a deep rumble, his breath hot on the side of her face.

All she could do was nod. He took her hand, and she followed him, almost skipping the few steps to the motorbike.

Harriet stopped, standing next to the bike and gestured towards her dress. “I can’t ride on that,” she told him. Her short black dress wouldn’t keep her warm, and with him sitting between her legs she didn’t like to think how high it would ride up her thighs. She didn’t want to give the passing motorists a thrill.

He peeled off his leather jacket, and Harriet couldn’t help but watch his muscles ripple under his tight black t-shirt as he stretched. He wrapped the jacket around her shoulders and it fit like a dress, reaching almost down to her knees. She hadn’t realised how big he was for some reason, but he towered over her, his shoulders nearly twice the width of hers.

She could still feel his body heat absorbed in the fabric interior, enveloping her, comforting her.

He held out his hand and Harriet took it, firm but gentle, and he helped her climb onto the Triumph. He placed a helmet on top of her head and gently pulled it down over her face, it fit perfectly. He swung his leg up and between then, slipping between her legs he leant gently back until his back pressed between her thighs, opening them wider.

“Hold on tight,” he told her as he slipped his helmet back on. She wondered where they would go, they hadn’t even spoken about it. And the bike roared to life. The thrumming of the engine sending shivers through her body.

Within moments they were racing through the streets of London, darting through traffic, weaving left and right across lanes. The speed they were going was scary. Harriet held on tightly, her arms wrapped around his muscular chest, her knees pressed together just above his waist. She felt the cool air pressing against her, but his jacket still kept her warm. She was almost sure she could still feel his body heat inside it still, warming her.

It didn’t take long for them to leave the busy streets of London behind. When the road emptied up ahead he pulled hard on the throttle and the bike flew. Harriet gasped as the front wheel lifted off the ground, and the throbbing of the engine became a roar, then a howl, as they rapidly picked up speed. It seemed mere minutes before they were out into the countryside, the road empty, the traffic non-existent.

They went for miles and miles. Harriet was just starting to notice the cold, and the heat of his body against hers. And then she realised she didn’t even know his name.

She was travelling with a stranger god knows where, on his motorbike. Her phone was in her purse, clutched against her flat stomach, pressed hard against his back.

Just as Harriet was starting to worry a little about this man she didn’t know and where she was going with him they pulled off, onto a strange side-road that swiftly became a dirt road. Harriet’s anxiety was getting the better of her. But she was a fully trained police officer. She’d tell him that as soon as they stopped, that would put him in his place. Either he’d be scared off, may be leaving her in the middle of nowhere, or he’d be a fine upstanding citizen and nothing for her to worry about.

They wound down the narrowing lane, the trees overgrowing on both sides of the road and creating a dark canopy. Was this where they would find her body, she wondered?

Then suddenly the road ended into a small opening surrounded by trees. It looked like a carpark, and the motorbike pulled over to the side, the engine revved briefly and then he switched off the engine, but left the lights on.

Harriet looked around before she took his hand and climbed off the Triumph. There were a few cars scattered about, all of them spaced far away from each other. Harriet noticed that one of the car’s windows was down and she could hear something coming from inside when the man tugged gently on her hand, pulling her towards him.

She put her hand up between their mouths and pressed her finger to his lips before he could kiss her. She could feel the heat of his body coming in waves towards her. Despite her fears the thrill of his heat was intense and she could feel her body responding to it. Harriet knew that if she needed to she could defend herself, but she didn’t want to.

“Where are we?” she asked innocently.

Then she asked: “What’s your name?”

He chuckled. “Lucas.” It came out as a growl, raw and powerful. Harriet stepped back, leaving her finger against his lips for a moment. “I’m Harriet,” she told him, and then she removed her fingers from his lips reluctantly and held out her hand to shake his. He took it firmly and shook. “Nice to meet you, Harriet,” Lucas said with a seductive smile and a sparkle in his eyes. She could tell he wanted her by the way she said her name.

Before she could repeat her question about where they were he pulled her close to him, pressing his body against her. The heat between them suddenly flared. Harriet felt like her blood was on fire in her veins. Their lips met, pressing together, their mouths opening and she felt his tongue dart into her mouth, tasting her. Teasing her as he slipped out of her mouth. Her tongue slipped inside his mouth, pressing against his teeth. Then their tongues wrapped around each other. His breath was hot in her mouth. Their lips twisted and turning as they tried to penetrate each other further.

His arms wound around her, hugging her body against him. Their bodies pressed tightly, fitting together like Lego bricks. She could feel the hard muscles of his chest pressing against her breasts, his massive arms clinging to her, moving around her and enveloping her. She could feel his thighs against hers, and as his pelvis tilted into her, she felt his bulge. Harriet gasped involuntarily, and he sucked in her breath. Then pulled away slightly to look at her. They both grinned, both of them knowing where this was going. Her hand reached, struggling to find a path between their bodies, and she rubbed at him. He groaned and Harriet rubbed harder. Then he stopped her, taking her hand in his and stepping away.

Lucas turned away from her, Harriet wanted to grab him back and hold him against her. She didn’t know anything about him, but the mystery was intoxicating. He pulled her along behind him and Harriet followed. Noticing that the light from the motorbike splayed out across the back window of the car ahead of them.

There were noises coming from inside the car. It suddenly dawned on her what this place was and she slowed down, resisting Lucas’ pull. He turned around and stood in front of her, looking handsome in the dim light. He kissed her again, she melted in his arms, falling into his embrace, he crushed her body to his, her softness complementing his hardness. He tasted like strawberries and chocolate and Harriet wanted to devour him.

Then she realised where she was and she pushed him away, he gave way momentarily, but his passion took over and he clutched her body harder, kissing her deeper. She let him, moving her body against his.

He turned her around, so she had her back to the car, and they gradually moved backwards. Step by slow step, their bodies intertwined, kissing, touching, her hands reaching around to his buttocks, one of his on the small of her back, the other between them squeezing her right breast. His hand was warm and hard, and he squeezed and kneaded her flesh like an expert, using just enough pressure, rolling his thumb over her nipple, and teasing his fingernails down the side of her breast. She wanted to feel his fingers elsewhere. Then she was leaning back against the car with a bump.

One of his hands went between her legs and Harriet groaned in his ear, he was panting against her cheek as she reached between his legs, pulling at his trousers.

There were sounds coming from the car Harriet was leaning against.

But as she turned around to look Lucas took her face in both of his hands, he leant her head forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then Lucas worked his way down her face, never leaving a centimetre unkissed, working down the sides of her face, kissing and kissing. He kissed the tip of her nose and Harriet chuckled as it tickled. He kissed her cheeks, then her upper lip, kissing and kissing. His lips puckering against her skin. Harriet felt his moist flesh touching her, his heat seeming to glow with every single touch, then moving away, only to alight elsewhere. He kissed just above her lips. Harriet tried to draw him into a kiss, but he teased her, his lips moving just out of reach. He kissed the side of her mouth and she hungered for him. She wanted more. She pressed her own hand between her legs, shifting the fabric of her dress out of the way, her fingers pressing against the gusset of her silk panties.

She could feel Lucas grinning as his own hand found hers and pressed harder between her thighs. His breath hot on her face, his lips wet as they traced along her jaw and then down under her chin, kissing all the way. He kissed against the other side of her jaw, his fingers entwined with her between her legs, pressing more firmly. Easing deeper between her thighs, pressing up and sliding back out and then repeating, slow steady strokes. Their fingers digging deeper into her flesh each time.

His mouth worked its way down her throat, his hands slid lower to take hold of her neck and her head fell back allowing him deeper access as he nuzzled in the crook of her neck.

Branches quivered not far from them. Harriet looked into the distance, saw the trees and brambles moving, as though someone was there watching. She gently shook her head, her shoulder-length brunette locks tumbling around her face, ignoring anything that was happening beyond her body and Lucas’ touch.

Then Harriet felt his skin against her skin. Between her thighs. His fingers had slipped away from her, slid beneath the fabric of her underwear. His fingers were thick and so hot. His skin touching her almost burned. The cool breath of the night a distance contrast.

Lucas teased her, his finger working between the lips of her labia, opening her up, grazing against her engorged clitoris. Her breathing was shallow, she sucked in air, felt like she was drowning. She held her breath, awaiting the moment. She wanted to be penetrated. Lucas gripped her breast and squeezed harder until she gasped. His mouth working its way down her chest, kissing her boobs, working his way down the milky white slope, across her chest, his tongue leaving a cool trail of saliva. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to feel the heat of his cock. She wanted him to fill her.

“Fuck me,” she whispered at the top of his head. His fingers sliding around and around between her thighs, momentarily gliding across her clit. She squatted slightly, widening her stance to give him more room.

Lucas stopped, looked up at her. His mouth just above her right nipple. His head went back down, he drew her nipple into his mouth, just slipping it over the edge of her bra, releasing the ample bosom from its cradle. Heat surged through her chest. She pushed his panties aside, her fingers scrambling to find his. She didn’t want to be teased any more. She wanted to be fucked.

Lucas let her nipple roll off his tongue with a tickle and a dribble of saliva. The cool air a tantalising contrast to the moist heat of his mouth.

He stood up straight and kissed her again, his tongue entering her mouth, she sucked him in deep, then twisted and rolled her tongue across his, writhing together. And then she found his fingers, crushed them together and pushed them towards her vagina.

“Hold on,” Lucas whispered, removed his hand just as she was about to feel him inside. He took her a couple of steps to the front of the car. She hadn’t realised, but the headlights were on. Lucas pushed her to the front of it and bent Harriet over the car bonnet.

Harriet looked behind her as Lucas roughly pulled up her dress, knelt down behind her and bit through her panties, tearing them to pieces and throwing them aside. He pulled down his trousers, and she looked at his erect cock as it bobbed towards her buttocks.

Lucas pushed her down on the bonnet of the car and stepped forward. She felt him close to her, the heat from his cock was startling. She felt the head of it probe gently near her bum, then lowered as he positioned himself, she felt it press between her thighs. Then the angle changed.

Harriet was looking forward through the windshield. She could see a couple in the car. They were fucking. The man was lying down on the back seat and the woman was riding him, her hands pressing against the roof for leverage, her large breasts bouncing up and down with each thrust.

Lucas entered Harriet. His engorged cock bursting through her labia and impaling her. It just kept going, she swallowed hard, wondering if she would be split apart, but enjoying every single inch of it. Her own wetness gliding him deeper. It kept coming, deeper and deeper inside her, filling her. She felt it hit the walls of her vagina and thought she would burst.

Her fingers found her clit and pressed, hard, then harder. Lucas was grinding his cock deep inside her, ramming his pelvis against hers. Her entire body tensing, her back ached, her head lifted from the cool metal, the angle of her hips tilted and she felt his cock fill her, his fingers touching her. The explosion came in a wave that had her bent knees trembling, and the only thing that held her up was the car bonnet, and his hands heavy on his hips. She rested her head against the cool metal as Lucas continued to pound her penis into her. She watched the couple in the car. On the other side of it someone was masturbating, holding a flashlight and peering inside. When she looked at a van across the car park she saw a van with the back doors open. There were random people scattered around the edges of the park, watching, wanking.

This was live porn.

She was part of it.

She thought she heard someone cum somewhere behind her, but when she turned all she could see was Lucas. He was grunting, thrusting, his massive cock almost hurting her. She realised she hadn’t moved and the waves of ecstasy that had taken her were fading, so she pushed back as he thrust, and he gasped. Grinding together, their bodies in sync, it was fast and hard and rough. Lucas pulled her hair, her breasts escaping her dress and then falling to press against the bonnet.

From nowhere someone stepped towards them, touch light flaring in Harriet’s face for a moment before it focused on her grinding hips. She saw a hand moving rapidly near a crotch. Just rapidly white movement in the darkness.

Lucas’ fingers fumbled between her legs as he tried to thrust and find her bud. When he found it his rough fingers pressed against it and sent shivers of pleasure writhing through her exhausted body. She looked up at the masturbator and grinned.

Inside the car the woman riding the man caught her eye and they shared a smile. Harriet squeezed her own breast, tweaking the nipple. Inside the car the woman did the same. All of a sudden the couple stopped fucking, got out of the car, the woman quickly on her knees at the back door.

Harriet shifted a little so she could see. Lucas moved with her, fucking her harder with every thrust of his hips.

The car man stood in front of his woman, stroking his cock and then jerking it as he came in a pure white dribble into her mouth.

The lone masturbator didn’t know where to look. Until Harriet took her finger into her mouth and sucked it. Then Lucas hit the button, then again and again and again. Repeatedly touching her clit, pressing against it with enough pressure to send waves of beautiful heat through her body. It blasted through her muscles, her flesh, her skin, like a wave of burning pleasure.

The masturbator groaned and came a few moments later, his seed shooting through the air to hit the car tyre several feet away.

Harriet groaned, gasped, Lucas ploughed his cock into her with one forward thrust that overbalanced them and he was pressed down hard against her as his cock jerked inside her, throbbing his load deep inside her pussy.

Somewhere behind them a few minutes later someone gasped in pleasure. It was only then, as their sweat began to chill and their bodies, stuck together with their heat and juices, began to feel sticky and cold.

Lucas pushed up on his powerful forearms, pressing his semi-flaccid penis inside her. Harriet tried, but she couldn’t move. Her body still trembled, exhausted by the waves of pleasure still sending shivers through her. She wasn’t even sure she could stand. Her thighs and vagina ached from the sex. Her nipples were sore from the twisting she had given them. The tops of her thighs were rubbed raw from banging repeatedly against the car.

Lucas helped her up but as she staggered against him, he hugged her tightly and took her back towards the motorbike.

He helped her climb up, it took her two attempts and then she leaned into him when he climbed on. Before he started the Triumph he said: “What do you want for breakfast?”

Harriet realised it was almost dawn as she blinked like a blind man seeing for the first time, still in a stupor of ecstasy. The sun was just starting to come up. All she could think to say to him was: “You”.

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Unzip My Heart By Charles E.J. Moulton

Ever since my college graduation, I’d worked in daily newspapers, mostly in England, in the daily news, covering scandals, arrests, press conferences, political debates and the like. I had a pretty impressive resume after six years.

Then, one day, after finally settling for a prominent London newspaper, I did a special about domestic gardening, “The English Suburban Landscape” they called it. They, yes, they. I wrote it. They named it.
It almost seemed as a set-up.
Nah, I’m kidding.

Anyway, my publisher, a big boobed, brunette thirty-something, five years my senior, named Penny Porter, a real power-vixen with a larger sized rural garden of her own, her knockers as big as her home-grown sunflowers, was so impressed with my article that she made me the chief editor of domestic issues. That meant that, from now on, I would be specializing on local cooking events, gardening tips, Tupperware parties, kindergarten festivals and family stories.

At first, it was fun. Every day was a journey to some out-of-town-occasion where some aging mother of three told me about her new self published vegan cook book or a review of a school play in Southampton.
The kids loved it.
I had a column of my own and loads of housewives wrote me on a daily basis. I even received a marriage proposal from a single Mom in Whitechapel, who called me “the most wholesome man in Britain”.
Oh, God, I thought.
And I was right.
That name stuck.
From then on, they called me “Mr. Wholesome”, just because I wrote about the letter in my column, and TV-informercials would regularly invite me, Mr. Wholesome, to sell some spectacular new frying pan and I would have to say how much I loved preparing my meals in it.
Bullshit.
One female BBC-TV-presenter, also a dishy married MILF I ended up fucking in the back room, said: “Britain’s favourite domestic journalist, our wholesome Mr. Bill Barnes, every housewife’s dream come true … is HERE!”

What a nightmare.
It was all a show. In reality, at that moment in time, anyway, I was a self-confessed bachelor who loved bringing some lusty chick home for a quick shag. Me, cooking? No, more like: me ordering take-out!
Oops.
I remember interviewing George Michael in the beginning of my career. He told me in nauseating detail how the incident in the loo in L.A. had turned his life upside down. It was his coming out as a gay man but it had been the total set-up.
That, I feared, would happen to me.
Not a gay coming out, I wasn’t, but a horny coming out.

I must confess that I now knew a great deal about cooking, gardening, domestic issues and the sort. In secret I enjoyed visiting all these housewives, pretending to like their cooking, but just actually peeking at their bums and boobs. My sexy brunette publisher made me the highest paid editor of our daily mag. I really had a great life. But bringing home some lusty babe from the corner for a quick blowjob? No way. No more cruising in bars, no more hot foursomes.
I was damn happy the yellow press had not found out about my frivolous past.
George Michael’s L.A. incident would have seemed like a visit at St. Paul’s Cathedral in comparison.

What does a horny British bloke do when he is not allowed to shag whoever he fancies? You got it. He starts jerking off. I had done it before, in my teens, plucking out my dick and squirting on photos of Busty Dusty and Nikki Knockers.
Once I got my own flat, though, no more prickbeating. I fucked and licked more pussy than Warren Beatty.
Nowadays? Forget it!
Celebrities watch their step.
Okay, maybe they don’t.
If you’re Mr. Wholesome, though, fucking around might be a bad choice.
Anyway, that was the reason I went back to the five finger quickstep.
I worked most of the time, no time even for a girlfriend, so whenever I came home to my flat in Kensington, I would lay out every single smut mag I owned, literally covering the whole floor with big boobed paper chicks, print out a photo of some babe and squirt my sperm on her pic.

That went well for a while.
I had little orgies my own, even taking out my blow-up-doll, Saucy Samantha, turning every night into a row of orgasms and washing my rubber girlfriend in the tub every night.

No one knew about my double-life.
Yet.

The day it all changed was a sunny Friday. I knew I had that weekend off, that had been due to my editor in chief Penny Porter, who had needed me for three consecutive weeks.
“Take three days off,” she sang. “You’ve earned it, love.”
Well, that Friday, I had bought pop corn and chips and a six pack of Guinness, planning to watch all of the Harry Potter flicks in one night.
Four articles had been finished that day, they were all going to be published that following week and Miss Porter had told me “how utterly pleased she was with my astonishing work”. She even asked me if I wanted to join her for a glass of Dom Perignon in her back garden.

Now, you might ask why I did not accept the invitation. Well, first of all, I assumed she was married. I had seen her with a bloke a few years back. Extra-marital affairs, getting caught in the closet, running out naked with a gun firing on me arse? No, thanks. Besides, I had gotten so used to my orgy nights, Saucy Samantha doing all I demanded, that everything else faded in comparison.
Sad, huh? Maybe.

I came back home that early evening, late afternoon, around ten to six, threw all of my snacks in the kitchen, planning to order a pizza, throwing the six-pack in the fridge, planning to wank for a 30 minute round, a hard fast-finger tree-trunk-rub samba-jump, before joining Harry and his friends.
Saucy Samantha was on the bed, BangBros was filling some sexy blonde’s mouth with cum on my PC and thirty issues of Big Ones lay on the floor. The worst thing was: I had printed out a photo of my boss so that I could eventually squirt on her A4-paper face.

I had been walking about the flat wanking like a silly man, looking at Kirsten Imrie rubbing her clit on the beach of Tenerife, Chloe Vevrier fondling her boobies on silk sheets, Julie Hart showing me her bum in her Oxfordshire house doorway and Sophie Fernandez opening herself up to show me the sweet oyster pink inside of her “Fromage de Meaux”. All the while I wandered back to Saucy Samantha to get a round of tongue twisting, only to walk towards Penny Porter’s pic to tell her how much I craved her.

A man can be so darned immersed inside his testosterone levels that he does not realise that the front door to the apartment house is open and that his own door to his penthouse flat at the recluse end of the hallway … was ajar.

So here I stood, stark naked, Mr. Happy pointing toward Penny Porter’s slight cleavage, a pic from the magazine’s website, me whispering as I looked at her photo on the paper:
“I wanna fuck aaahhhlll of your holes, Penny!”
Who was in the doorway, out of the blue, or in the blue, as the case might have been, holding a bottle of champagne in her left hand and two glasses in other, dressed in a superb looking blue outfit, tight asshugging skirt, sexy jacket and white boobembracing blouse, made up and reeking of Yves Saint-Laurent?
Penny Fucking Pussydream Porter.
I don’t think I have ever been so embarrassed. Not when my kindergarten pals caught me naked in my playroom, not when I had been foulmouthing my teacher in high school and he stood right behind me, not even when my college enemy saw me dropping my breakfast on the canteen floor and subsequently slipping on the banana … to his laughing glory.
Erect penis, naked me and fully clothed her, Mr. Wholesome caught in Sodom and Gomorrah.
My heart raced, I shrieked like a little girl, dropped her picture on the white carpet.
Penny Porter looked at her own printed photo, gazed at it with an open mouth, what I thought was no open mind, gazed at all my smut mags, walked in, looked at Saucy Samantha lying on the bed.
She stood there, well, how do I put it? In shock. I saw my career ending, me sliding down an endless tunnel toward hell, my life as Britain’s journalistic answer to Donny Osmond turning into a pile of dog excrements.
I grabbed my trousers, nervously, with shaking hands, covering my trembling crotch, a dick shrinking like an ice cream in the sun, me, unable to utter a word.
“Holy fuck,” Penny Porter moaned, ever so softly, turning her back on me, leaving and running away faster than she had come, champagne and glasses with her.
“Bugger,” I spat. “Shit, buggar, fuck, darned, heck, bleeding hell.”
I think my smut mags disappeared into the backroom faster than back when the postman arrived unannounced. Saucy Samantha? I stuffed her into a corner, shoved Penny Porter’s pic into a drawer, put on my clothes and sat down on my balcony chair for an infuriating moment, rocking back and forth, expecting to find my face on the first page of The Sun the next morning. Heck. Might even drop dead.
I could see the headlines.
Not “Zip Me Up Before You Go-Go”, as in poor George Michael’s case, but “Mr. Wholesome’s Hole of Sin” or something rather.
I then ran the entire length of my flat up and down forty times, contemplating moving to Ecuador and starting work as a Coffee farmer, where no one knew me or ever would.
The forty-first time I did that, Penny Porter was back, leaning against the doorframe, still holding the champagne and glasses.
She’d changed her mind.
She grinned insecurely, chuckled a few times, cleared her throat and looked at me.
“Sorry … uhm … that I intruded … on your private …”
There was a long pause.
Okay, was she going to say “orgy” or “perversion” or “disgusting habits”?
“… fun.”
I shook my head. “I am totally embarrassed, Miss Porter,” I whispered.
She put up her hands in protest, closing her eyes. “Please, I just heard you tell my photo you wanted to insert your hard gender into every opening in my body, so …”
Oh, Lawdy. A possibility I wasn’t going to slip into hell arose.
“… call me Penny.”
My cold sweat transformed into warm pre-cum.
“Co-… come in.”
I laughed a nervous shutter, waving.
“I mean, if you are not disgusted.”
Penny smiled, her eyes swiftly surfing over my crotch-area.
She grew red in the face, shaking her head.
“Oh, gosh,” she giggled.
I looked at her, her tits bouncing with her laughter.
“How … awkward.”
She put down the glasses on the dining room table, gently handing me the Dom Perignon.
I took it, smiling, not feeling like I was sliding down a tube, but feeling like this was taking me to Cloud Nine.
Okay, I’ll admit it.
My cock was growing again.
I think Penny noticed.
I tried to uncork the champagne as elegantly as possible. When I did, it foamed, dripping cumlike drops onto the floor. I poured the liquid into the glasses, handed one to Penny. She did not look me in the eye. She just looked at the massive erection I sported underneath my Boss shorts.
Her gaze grew bigger and bigger until she simply let out a high squeak.
“Whoa,” she whimpered. “It’s huge!”
That was the moment this awkward tension turned randy.
“May I?”
She looked at me with pleading eyes.
I nodded. “Be my guest!”
Glasses gone, blowjob on.
I cannot tell you how amazing it felt to have this sexy power vixen going down on her knees like an obedient prostitute, opening my zipper with her red long nails, dropping my shorts to the ground, reaching into my Calvin Kleins and seeing her amazed grin as my nine inch rod bobbed joyfully into her face.
“Will it fit?”
I chuckled and shrugged as she massaged my balls ever so tenderly, still fully clothed, looking like a Queen, acting like a submissive whore.
“Oh, my Lord,” I sighed as Penny Porter slowly opened her mouth and stuck my large dong into her mouth.
She elegantly embraced my penis with her lips, her head bobbing back and forth, her earrings rattling, her hair flying, spit running down her cheek, her hands grabbing my ass, her voice making little happy whimpering noises.
“I do believe you are endeavouring to take all of my nine inches of penis into your mouth, you dirty little slut,” I said and waved my eyebrows at her.
I couldn’t believe I had said that but it awoken something in her.
Something really randy.
As she sucked on me humungous schlong-dong, she made little breaks in her lecture, occasionally talking while sucking, turning into a real randy little whore. This chick, who I had only known as totally in control, a boss, a dragon, she became a dickhungry little tart.
“Man,” she spat on my prick and masturbated it, “you’re all man. Such a big, big, … moooahh .. yum yum yum … big fine dick … so salty … I’ve sucked a lot of dick in my day, but … mmmh … mmmh … yeah … this penis is the best. Gosh, this cock tastes good. When I saw you standing there naked, looking so fine, your … mmh … your dick erect and you telling my photo you wanted to fuck all of my holes … mmh, yeah … tastes fine … I felt my pussy getting all wet … mmmh … hard cockie … chickie-sluttie love hard penis … I feared my own horniness … God, I love your big dick … I sat in my car, you know, and I said to myself: you’re divorced, living on your own in that big house, your ex getting blowjobs from that young bitch in Spain, go and give that nice man a blowjob … and so I did … mmmh … love … yum yum yum … sucking dick.”
She really went at it now, her mouth so fast, her tongue so exciting, her throat endless, Iiterally saw stars.
Then, all of a sudden, she sprang up, almost in a rage, throwing off her clothes, literally scattering them all across the floor, her jacket, her skirt, her blouse, her garters, her stockings, her undies, her bra.
At once, this sex object was stark naked, ripping off my clothes, as well, amazing me with the sight of her on my bed on all fours, bare bum stretched towards me. She smelled of coconut shower gel and sexy perfume, her C-cup titties and buttcheeks bouncing in my face as she begged me: “I want your dick in my asshole, Bill. Do to me what no one has done before. Please fuck me in my butt with your long hard cock!”
Well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I walked up to her, happily grabbing her buttcheeks, my dick pointing at what obviously was a newly showered body. Had she anticipated fucking me?
Mmh, all woman.
Nice fuck.
As things go, I reached into my nighttime drawer and fished out some of the strawberry cream I had used on Samantha.
“Oh, Bill,” Penny moaned submissively, “you’re not gonna hurt me, are you?”
I gave my publisher a knowing grin, understanding her game of hide and seek. This hard business woman, always calling the shots, always feared by everyone, she finally could lean back and be controlled, and her willing employer now telling her what to do.
“Just shut up and let me cream your butt in before I shag your ass, baby!”
I rubbed in my cock and balls with this sex lotion before I took a bigger dose of it on my hand, rubbing in her showered rosebud arsehole with love cream.
Impatient, I threw the tube on the floor, letting my cock taste her butt, my penis looking like the EuroStar entering the famed tunnel.
It was a slow and very intense work of thrusting, but, bit by bit, I saw my Long Dong Silver vanish into her tightest hole. I will never forget the expression on her face. Agony and pleasure, fear and joy and the ecstasy as we found a nice thumping rhythm of mutual respect. Okay, a really good fuck. What also was fabulous was how beautifully her buttcheeks wobbled as I thrust my dick into her arse. Every thrust had her bum shaking thrice. Her buttwobble was poetry in motion.
“You have a beautiful ass, Penny,” I said, shagging her butthole.
“You are the hottest fuck I’ve had in years, Bill,” Penny moaned.
Quite extraordinary, I told myself, she managed to be so submissive and yet when she wanted to, she pulled it away and called the shots.
She pulled herself out of my cockie, not vice versa, laying down in spread eagle and commanding me to lick her pussy. And, oh, how I licked. What I liked most, I will admit, is that her pussy wasn’t shaved. Nice hair to lick through on the way to the pink and salty cunt. At the end of my five minute clit meal, my face was dripping with oestrogen.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I simply pulled out my tongue and jumped in between her legs and fucked her like a maniac, her jugs bouncing, her eyes closed shut, oh-oh-oh’s exchanged by ah-ah-ah’s and eeh-eeh-eeh’s, gentle fuck me’s and deeper’s and let me be your whore, you sexcraved moron. Soon, I saw stars and as she came I really felt her pussy tingle, her nails digging into my back, her hairy and delicious furburger hugging my hard penis so tight, so tight, so tight, I felt like becoming an opera tenor.
Now it was time for me to come. And, oh, how I did.
I pulled out of her cunt, straddling up to her face, slapping my balls on her chinnie-chin-chin. The sexy bitch opened her mouth like the pricklusty slut she was, sticking out her tongue and demanding sperm and getting loads of it.
It landed everywhere: on her face, eyes, tongue, cheeks, forehead, nose and lips. I ended up inserting my giant Willie a few times into her hungry mouth before laying down next to her, cuddling up on her arm, waiting for her to get ready mopping up my sperm with her finger and licking it off with her mouth.
When she was ready and uncummed, she sighed:
“So much for Mr. Wholesome.”
I looked at her in my own knowing way and added:
“The only thing that’s true about that name is that I do satisfy some good holes. Hole-Some? Some holes!”
She nodded, smiling: “You fill ’em up fine.”
We ended up laughing and getting ready for another round.

I can only describe that weekend as the best of my life. There were very little questions asked and yet we revealed most of what was near and dear to us. I gave her my spare toothbrush and an extra T-shirt of mine, which she filled up well, I might add. We finished off the champagne and the six-pack, we ordered pizzas and watched all of the Harry Potter flicks. And we fucked so much at one time Penny complained that her pussy ached. During the fourth Potter flick, Penny pushed pause to ask me if I had the ingredients for Caipirinha in the kitchen. I answered that, indeed, I did. She came back, five minutes later, with two lucious cocktails. What really blew me away was when she told me that in order to make it a real cocktail, I would have to masturbate my cum into her glass. At first, I thought she was kidding. Lo and behold, she wasn’t. I began to adore this chick.
Imagine my surprise when she sat back, treating my wank as a dinner show, watching my cock grow from small to huge, her eyes growing and glowing as my cock grew bigger and bigger – “Woah, does it ever stop growing? Yay! Go, Billy, go!” – penislover Penny cheering like a go-go-girl as the orgasm slowly came to its close. I did squirt my sperm into her Caipirinha, she clapped her hands like a happy school girl, she stirred the glass and drank it up. “Now that’s a real cocktail!”
This was incredible.
Talk about Mr. Hole-Some.

Monday morning came too soon. Much too soon.
I do know that Penny Porter woke me up, fully clothed and sexy at 8 o’clock, having showered and used some of my eau de parfume and shampoo. She woke me up in the sexiest way possible. I felt her mouth embrace my cock. And yes, I squirted into her mouth. And yes, she swallowed it all. And no, her lipstick was not a mess afterwards.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she swooned. “Thanks for your protein breakfast. There’s nothing like sperm to fill the stomach.”
I sighed. “You are a fabulous woman, Penny Porter!”
She caressed my cheek with the back of her hand.
“I’m going to work, babe, but I will see you tomorrow, okay?”
I nodded, smiling.
“You have a nice day off,” she said, “we have to chat tomorrow.”
I raised my eyebrows. “About what?”
She gave my nose a peck.
“Us.”
And that was that.
I lay there for the next two hours, realising I was in love.

I felt like I was flying on cloud nine, not getting up, eating my scones in bed, watching the last Potter flick, wanking again. It was blissful. At least until the phone rang at two o’clock that afternoon. Someone from the marketing department called me and announced that five major magazines had an appointment in Miss Porter’s office at ten tomorrow morning. I should be there at 9:45. I was free until then. This was important, it was added.

You can imagine what I was thinking.
Was Penny really such a hardliner? A cocksucking usurper? Was she going to sell me out?
No, that couldn’t be.
I went back and forth in my head about what was going on.
I reviewed the weekend in my head. I had taken nude pics of her. Otherwise, no surveillance or photos on her part.
What was I thinking?
Of course there was no foul play.
She said she wanted to talk about us, right?
That was good, wasn’t it?
I almost sent her a message, but managed to control myself.
She was busy.
But why the press conference?
Five major London magazines coming to Penny Porter’s office?
Our rivals?
To hear what?
About Mr. Wholesome caught wanking his cock?
No. At 7:11, Penny sent me a WhatsApp, thanking me for a wonderful weekend. Had I received the message? Yes, I had. It’s a nice surprise, she added. Was that a joke?
I chose to send her a heart. She returned one, saying she was attending a conference and would be home at midnight.
She longed to suck my dick again.
I fell asleep, dreaming weird dreams.

I got ready for my appointment that next morning with an eerie feeling of living in a Kafkaesque book of sorts.
“Josef K. fucked the girl of his dreams yesterday and is now walking the streets …”
Yeah, to do what?
Wank?
Beg?
Borrow?
Get unemployment money?
My breakfast tasted like paper, the sun was too hot and traffic was just too darned loud.
My colleagues greeted me, like they knew something I didn’t.
In any case, I went through any possibility in my head.
Split for Ecuador?
Seek emergency care?
Get a lawyer?
Become a porn star?
Hey, it worked for Mr. Bobbitt and he lost his dick at first.
“Mr. Wholesome Caught Wanking!” – that might even sound great in the porn industry.
Every step seemed like a visit in hell.
And I loved this babe!
Heck, she was the hottest fuck in the universe.
Was she going to eat me alive?

Three secretaries greeted me, asking me to wait outside the office with the plaque, Penny Porter, Editor in Chief, hammered on its honourable dark wood.
When I came in, Penny Porter was on the phone, speaking to God knows who. It sounded like someone from the House of Lords. She waved me into her huge office with her large dark desk, the Persian carpet, the leather chair she sat on studded with brass knuckles. I felt like walking the green mile. I closed the door behind me, walking up to her desk. Sitting down on the chair opposite of her’s.
Without further adieu, Penny handed me a document, three or four pages long. Me expecting a sapena or threat or some kind of weird compromise to never wank again, it had me shaking like a leaf in November.
Penny kept talking, shrugging and eyeing heavenward, pointing at the phone.
That was when I saw what the document read.
I saw my name, I saw the sum of money on the paper and I saw the length of the contract. My chin nearly dropped to the floor.
When the sexiest publisher on the planet hung up on her wooer, she smiled.
“You like it?”
I stuttered. “Is my cock that good?”
“I’ve had you in mind for some time, you hot rod!”
Penny Porter came up to me that day, setting her cute ass down on my lap, causing us to morph into the deepest and most lucious tongue-kiss the soul had ever seen.

The news spread like wildfire around the capital.
To be honest, I felt like royalty.
If the London Gazette was turning into the best daily mag in the city, Penny’s move to turn Mr. Wholesome, or Hole-Some, Master of Holes, and herself into a shared leadership-deal signed, sealed and delivered that success.
Of course there were critical voices, especially from our rivals, but as far as I was concerned I had the best girlfriend in the galaxy and I shared a gorgeous office with her, an office we could lock any time we wanted to shag ourselves silly. This divorced nympho was the finest cocksucker around and I was going to share my life with her.

Nowadays, I live in her big house in the outskirts of London. We’re married and have two children. We get to the office at ten, so she has time to give me a blowjob lesson after the kids go to school. Sometimes, I make a business call while she sucks me off just to save time. She doesn’t eat breakfast. Cum is enough for her, so she says.
I am still Mr. Wholesome to the public. If they only knew.
At times, Penny commands me around in the kitchen, but that is another story. I get to fuck her asshole while she stands by the stove making food. She makes me say that she is my sex object.

Our leadership-deal is approaching its tenth anniversary, so we are planning to send the kids to grandma. Penny tells me she found a really sex-crazed couple that want to celebrate with us by swinging and swapping pussies and cocks.
What can I say?
Foursome is back.
A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, especially if he has a nine inch dick.

The Glorious Cockteaser By Charles E.J. Moulton

To be honest, I’d had the hots for Sally ever since she was a senior in high school. Back then, I had just completed my doctorate in literature as the youngest of my age group. I only taught English for a year at Seaside Coast igh School, but I walked away battling a massive hard-on more often than I could tell you. Sally always dressed like a dirty old man’s dream cum true. I was only 30 at the time, but Sassy Sally made me feel like that uncle that asked her home to show her his stamp collection. I mean, that girl came in her blonde pigtails with pink ribbons, short cheerleader skirt, open shirt with cleavage, popping her Yankee Doodle Bubble Gum every fucking day. She sat there in the front row arching her back, begging for me to look at her swelling nipples. I went in to the teacher’s rest room to masturbate so often I think my colleagues thought I had a health problem. Every time I taught English for the seniors, I went in to jerk off beforehand because I knew I would be having issues with Sally’s cum-ons.

Anyway, I got a position as college professor at the end of that year. I was happy that I had not been caught humping a high school girl, as Sally had been only 17 at the time. I spent the next three years teaching college, fucking lots of bimbos, receiving quite a few blowjobs, but pretty much forgetting Sally. Okay, not really.

Four years after I left Seaside Coast High School, I fell in love with Amy, a teaching C-Cupped black haired chick from my neighborhood. We literally devoured each other. She would let me squirt my sperm into her mouth at breakfast, fuck her ass during lunch hour, titfuck her at dusk, she would lick my balls as I ate supper, suck my cock while I made business calls, surprise me with surprise blowjobs as I corrected tests and papers. Then she would let me fuck her from behind again as she fried my bacon by the stove, naked except for the apron.

One thing alone drove her nuts:  the fear of having to share me with someone else.

New students arrived at our State College that year and I prepared for them like I always did: diligently.

When I saw Sally again, though, I was back at Seaside Coast High School again, jerking off in the teacher’s loo. She had come of age, her boobs had grown and her ass was the sexiest and peachiest piece of female flesh I had seen in a long time. She was a real cockraiser.

Needless to say, I had my problems concentrating on my work.
After class, we spoke and she told me I was the reason she had chosen to study English Literature after studying Sports Instruction for three years. She had never forgotten me, she told me as she arched her back.

Now I wished I had fucked her pussy in her senior year. Amy and I were serious about our engagement. Fucking Sally now? Maybe not so good. So I kept the conversation going for a bit and then said good bye. Little did I know what was about to happen.

Amy knew I had to stay and organize the college computer files that night after work. It was long overdue, so she had arranged a girl’s night out, telling me she would let me work and spread her legs for me over the weekend.

I had been working for only one hour  when Sally came in, stripping ever so slowly, confessing as she undressed that she had wanted to fuck me forever.

I pleaded with her to stop. I had a girlfriend. We were going to get engaged. Sally, however, was adamant. She told me that all she wanted was to suck and fuck my cock. No worries, she said. She just wanted me to fuck her.

Oh, man. So there I was, my seven inch penis pumping Sally’s pussy from behind, her buttcheeks wobbling like marshmellows, and Amy called me on her mobile. I answered as I fucked Sally and Amy told me her girlfriend had cancelled. Was I okay? Yes, I answered, humping Sally, I was. Overworked, but fine. She should go home. I would be there shortly.

I hung up, switching holes, Sally’s butthole, Sally’s pussy, Sally’s butthole, Sally’s pussy and so on. Until I heard Amy’s voice in the hallway outside. Gee wiz, she was here.

Sally and I clothed real quick. Sally ended up under my desk, giving me a fantastic blowjob, as Amy walked in, telling me she had to come here just to relieve my tension. She needed a college fuck, she claimed.

I had never felt so afraid and so horny at the same time. Sally really worked my dickie, deepthroating it. I tried my best to pretend to work. Amy asked me why I was not standing up to greet her. I told her that my legs were tired. When she heard Sally’s sloppy blowjobbing noises under my desk, Sally moaning and raving about what a great penis I had, Amy’s face dropped an inch. Sally literally pushed me out of my seat and into a standing position. There I was, Sally sucking my cock and Amy watching it. Total confusion. I enjoyed the fellatio, but feared the worst, closing my eyes. Gosh, Sally sucked so well. Amy sucked well, too. Who would I choose?

I feared losing Amy, until I opened my eyes after feeling two female tongues circling my shaft.

“What the…” I spat.

“Shut up and let us fuck you,” they said in unison. “We planned this all along.”

I laughed, happy to now have to cocksuckers at my feet, not just one.

We now all live together, but that is a totally different story.

Lucy’s Paradigm Shift By Charles E.J. Moulton

Harry was uptight.

In fact, his uptightness had been legendary for quite a while.
It wasn’t that Harry was unfriendly. No, not at all. He smiled when you met him, he listened attentively to you when you spoke and occasionally, at parties, he would hold a very precise conversation entailing a wide variety of subjects.

Harry was no loser.

As a consummate professional, he meticulously prepared academic research papers, like he had back in college. Here a piece about the Napoleonic Wars, there a thesis about Roman Cuisine. He would often read these pieces to his university students during lectures, before returning home to his cigar, his Armenian Ararat Brandy and his CD-collections of Edward Elgar and Gustav Holst.

Harry was good looking, a very suave blond hairdo, impressive stature and large blue eyes, so it came as a surprise to many female students that such a man in his early 30s could be so shy of girls.

His parents had taught him to be impeccable.

The parents themselves?

No possibility in seeing Harald Carruthers Senior cuddling his Deirdre. Kissing? Impossible. They were friendly folk, loyal Bromley citizens from Billy Idol’s Small Town, England. They took Sunday strolls in the park, closed their own and their son’s eyes when a lightly clothed woman was shown on TV.

What goes around, comes around.

Harry Carruthers, Junior, developed a shame for his urges, although his secret drawer with the lock in his room had been filled to the brim with copies of Large Jugs Mag, Foot Fun, Sazzy Legs, Brash Blowjobs, Sexy Asses and Big Ones. And every time he squirted on Kimberley Clark’s Kleenex, he begged the heavens to forgive him.
This was his life until his a few days before his 31st birthday, a life spent remembering the one girlfriend from high school, the one with the large boobs, who left him because, you guessed it, he was just… too uptight.

It was a regular Monday afternoon, Harry returning from campus after an especially strenuous day. Big crowds of students, no or little reaction to his efforts, and that one girl sitting in the first row, eyeing him during three of his lectures. Lucy Holmes.

Harry knew he had given her his cellular phone number a few months before. She had needed the university password for the online research archive and he had let her use the spare computer in the back of the library.

She had eyed him back then, her big braless basooms stretching her V-shirt, nipples perkily pushing the cotton to say a becumming “Hello!”

It had been incredibly hard to hide his hard-on back in the back of the library, as hard as it had been to hide his hard-on today. Harry had not been able to help himself, so he spent most of his lectures behind his desk today sporting a massively throbbing erection, trying not to study Lucy’s fantastic D-cup wossnames too openly.

It was tough, real tough, having such uncontrollable urges.

Harry closed the door to his two room flat behind him that day, closing his eyes, breathing heavily. This had to be wrong, Harry told himself. Feeling this way, he meant. Being ashamed of loving titties, lots of titties, big titties, small titties, medium sized titties. If he only could overcome his fear and shyness when a pretty woman flirted with him. He spoke freely for hours on end about history during his lectures. Why on Earth was speaking a problem when it came to girls? He, a university professor. Shy. Getting a stiff prick two seconds after seeing a sexy female smile, squirting after a handshake. Impossible.

Harry threw his bag on the couch, shoved a Gershwin CD into the stereo, a frozen pizza into the oven and poured himself more than a half glass worth of Armenian Ararat Brandy. There he stood, on his miniature balcony, gazing at lawns and lawnmowers, cars and parking lots, houses and doors, exists and entrances. He had no idea what the thought was that was forming in his head or even why, only that the time was ripe for change. What change? How? The fuming vanilla cigarillo acting the Yin to the brandy’s Yang, Harry only understood then and there how lonely he felt.

Sex, a sin? No, loneliness, a bigger sin.

Half-way into his American Pan Style Chili Cheese Pizza, the familiar urge soared again. Harry ripped his desk drawer open, flung open his jeans, took out his throbbing erection, wanked, spread eagled the Score Mag Centrefold Babe, licking her sweet paper pussy, leaving a few strains of Chili Cheese on her pink clit. He imagined shoving his entire face into that wonderful cunt, coming out completely wet, his entire face dripping of oestrogen and clit wine. He felt his hand beat his willie so fast it sounded like a stampede, faster and faster, strains of pizza mixing with make-believe cunny soda.

At that moment, Harry’s phone rang.

“Lucy Holmes,” the display read, the photo he had taken of her in front of the university entrance, masturbatory boobs flashing on the display, de Falla’s Fire Dance reverberating as a ringing tone.

“Lucy,” Harry whispered to himself, thoughtfully, carefully wanking his penis, thoughts criss-crossing his mind as to why she called him now after work … in private.
Harry’s trembling hand swooshed across the display, causing the red receiver to turn green. Harry carefully raised the phone to his ear.

His dream fuck.

Harry was terrified.

“He-… Hello?”

A moment’s silence before any reaction came, fears of a student prank, a joke on his expense, causing his cheeks to turn red again. Then a very sweet and tender voice spoke in shy waves of tenderness.

“Mr. Carruthers? Lucy here. Lucy… Holmes.”

He looked at the nude model on the centrefold, as he listened to Lucy’s voice, masturbating his cock as he heard her sexy voice croon.

“Miss Holmes,” Harry crooned, “a … a pleasant surprise.”

She laughed. “I do hope I am not interrupting you.”

Harry stammered, looking at his half eaten pizza standing half way onto the porn babe’s jugs. “No, no. How can I be of service to you?”

“It’s sort of an emergency, Mr. Carruthers,” she began. There was another pause. “You have a minute?”

Harry, intrigued and terrified at the same time, croaked a quiet: “I have time,” which in retrospect seemed more horny than academic, but he was the teacher, right?

“Great,” Lucy chirped, which made Harry quietly wonder what the emergency was.

“I submitted an academic research paper to my uncle’s literary journal in Dublin,” Lucy continued, “and now he phoned me, telling me that they have a blank spot in the next issue. An author withdrew his submission. It’s an issue about Scandinavia. He told me he would publish it only if I add more information about the people’s uprising of 1542 against King Gustav Vasa under Nils Dacke.”

Lucy exploded out into an insecure laugh.

“I thought he was kidding,” she sing-songed in a Yorkshire lilt, “but he wasn’t. Apparantly, there are several pieces about Scandinavian uprisings in the issue and he wants it in there before 6 tomorrow evening.”

He didn’t know what it was, but hearing her voice just made him even more horny, but then there was the weird feeling of guilt in the back of his head.

“You’re the expert,” she swooned, coquette, “I’d pay you. I wouldn’t stay long.”

Harry imagined humungous racked Lucy here, discovering his hard-on.

“You live not far from here, right?”

“Yes,” she chuckled in a frilly bounce, “we strolled past your apartment building… the day you took those photos of me, remember?”

If she only knew how many times he had looked at those photos.

“How does seven o’clock sound?” Harry crooned, his cock still facing the ceiling, massaged by his firm left hand.

“Fantastic,” Lucy chirped. “Thanks ever so much, Mr. Carruthers. It would be my first published piece. I would be thankful for any help I could find.”

“See you soon.”

“Bye,” she whispered.

This all confused Harry. Had this something to do with her appearing in three lectures of his today and smiling.

Well, Harry’s dick went into his pants again, the pizza wandered in segments into his mouth and the Centrefold’s Yummy Chili Cheese Tasting Pussy into his drawer.

As he with shaking and nervous hands lit some candles and injected an Enya CD into the stereo, he remembered photoshopping Lucy’s pics, zooming in on her jugs and using the photo as a screensaver. He had even printed out the picture a couple of times just to squirt on it. Enya sang, Harry ran. Until he remained standing in the midst of his tidy flat, asking himself again and again why he had no fears about work and every fear in the world about meeting girls, a college teacher spending his life licking paper pussies.

Harry showered, making sure cock and balls and asshole were clean, sprayed some Cartier on his throat and brushed his teeth. He paced the hallway, shivered and mumbled silly nothings to himself. Maybe it was all a practical joke?

The doorbell gave him quite a start. It caused not only his heart to flutter, but also his cock to twitch. One look in the mirror later and Harry opened the door to reveal Lucy, sprayed with something smelling of magnolia and roses, Chopard or Christina Aguilera, wearing that T-shirt from the picture with “Malibu Beach” written on it. There was a beach on it that looked like a continent by the way the tits stretched it … and the nipples? Well, let’s say they stuck out like flagpoles in the wind.

“Thanks ever so much,” she repeated, stretching forth one bottle of red wine. “Rioja?”

Harry nodded. “Uhm-hmm. Co- … come in.”

She wandered in, rubbing her pink skirt, causing Harry’s tight trousers to seem even tighter. “You have a really nice flat, Mr. C.”

“Tha-… thanks.”

Harry took the bottle of wine, shaking his head.

“That wasn’t necessary.”

Lucy shrugged, her knockers shaking in the process, causing him to glance at them. She noticed he was gazing at her tits, but for now she only gave him a sly grin, looking down at his swelling crotch.

“Oh, yes, it was, you helping me with my article and all.”

“I’ll get two glasses.”

Harry thanked the Lord that the cork didn’t break and that he did not spill any of that wine. Lucy brought forth her USB-stick, forcing Harry to focus on his work. It was difficult to explain thoroughly how a Swedish farmer revolted against the royal regime of 1542 when a buxom brunette frequently spent her evening leaning toward the computer screen, shoving her milk-factories under his nose.

Three quarters of an hour later and Lucy had an impeccible written addition to her submission, not her own, but albeit a very adequate one that would make any Irish, English or Swedish historian proud. So much for not staying long. On the other hand, the longer Lucy stayed, the more did Harry actually want to fuck her, the more he actually felt he had the guts to make a move, the more he felt he could just grab her boobs and stick his dick between them. Shaky and quite red in the face, Harry strolled to the kitchen to get the chocolate chip cookies, hearing Lucy rave about his great work, when, suddenly, out of the blue, Lucy stopped talking. She had been chatting about a lecture of his when…

“Oh, my God.,” she exclaimed.

There was a very long pause, which caused Harry to think that Lucy had left.

When Harry returned with a crystal plate of cookies, Lucy stared at a bouncing screensaver. Harry took a few steps toward her, that fuckable woman with the monumental wankable whammers, her mouth open.

“That’s me, Mr. C.,” she said, giving Harry a sudden attack of the nervous fright. Pictures of unlawful sexual conduct came to mind, Lucy running out and screaming. She did nothing of the kind. Instead, she just smiled. “You made a special close-up of… my tits.”

She looked at Harry, more immobile than the Statue of Liberty, Lucy with a sexy and innocent kind of grin on her cocksucker lips.

“Lucy, I don’t know how to say this, but…”

“You like my tits, Mr. C?”she crooned.

No response. “Uhm, uhm…”

She looked up, licking her lips.

“You can say so, if it’s true, Mr. C.”

Harry nodded slowly, clutching the plate.

Lucy looked down below Harry’s plate toward the growing bulge in his trousers.

“Yes, I do like your tits,” Harry said. “Very much.”

And as Lucy stood up, catwalking toward him, the cookies on his plate rattling against the glass, she licked her lips.

“You wank to pictures of my tits, Harry,” she asked.

Harry nodded. “Yes, I do. Often.”

“You print out pictures of me and squirt on them?”

Harry nodded again.

“I like that,” she said.

Harry chuckled nervously.

“What’s that in your pants?”

She took the plate, put it on the coffee table by the couch and slowly rubbed the very prominent thing that now more resembled a long coke can than a small fish.

“Something for me?” she crooned, stroking the bulge slowly.

“It’s growing,” she chuckled, waving her eyebrows, giving him a kiss. “Can I ask you a question, Professor Carruthers?”

“Uh-huh,” he groaned.

“How long has it been since someone gave you a blowjob?”

“Gosh,” Harry croaked. “Dunno …”

“Uuuh-ooh,” Lucy whispered, taking off her Malibu T-shirt. “You probably wanked yourself silly over my titties, squirting on my printed picture. Well, Mr. C., you sexy wanker.”

Lucy went down on her knees, unbuckling his belt with the look of a kid who just discovered that Santa was real.

“I want to taste that big dick of yours, baby,” she mused.

The zipper went down, the pants went down, the underpants went to the floor and when she saw his monster cock, as big as a foot and as thick as a coke bottle, she opened her mouth, giggling. It was with a smoothe grin that she freed a penis that simply bounced out and smiled at her with its eight inches and one happy eye on a happy plum sized helmet.

“Mr. C.! Now I am about give you a private lesson.”

Lucy carefully opened her mouth and wrapped her elegant cocksucker lips around his shaft, making little squeaking noises and smacking her lips in the process. At the moment Lucy Holmes took his Long John in her mouth, Harry saw stars. The way she sucked his cock had to be felt to be described. She literally embraced his penis with her mouth, letting it touch the back of her throat, making little groaning and squeaking noises as she sucked, occasionally letting the cock plop out with an elegant little pop onto her chin for a fine little lick of the tongue. A quick kiss on the one-eyed helmet, a gentle suck on the tip, a long lick at the shaft, a tender long slobber at his balls, taking one testicle into her mouth, bouncing it up and down with her tongue, then the other, grabbing his buttocks as she sucked. Then, she was back to sucking, harder and harder. Harry was amazed that he had not squirted yet, but she sucked so fantastically it made sense to wait and enjoy. While she sucked it, she massaged his balls, managing to circle the shaft with her tongue during her expertise sucking work. In fact, he felt his dick grow in her mouth only because she managed to give him such good oral sex. Lucy half-smiled while sucking, nodding ever so sensitively, her cock-hungry eyes glittering in moonlight from the window.

“Do I suck you well, Mr. C.?” Lucy said, licking his balls again.

“Oh, yes,” Harry said, suddenly free of fear. “You are a great cocksucker.”

“I wanna please you, Mr. C,” she teased. “Do I please you?”

Harry moaned something unintelligible.

Lucy slowly worked herself down to his long schlong and devoured it deep throat, balls and helmet and pubic hair and all.

“You wanna see me ride you, Mr. C.? My tight little arse ride your long and hard dick? Or are you in the mood to lick this good little girl’s clit first?”

Freedom made Harry invincible. “I think I wanna drink your cunt first.”

Harry had never ever seen a woman run so fast to the bed and Harry was not slow in responding, stretching out his tongue for a taste of some Yorkshire pussy.

Harry’s head literally disappeared totally into that furburger. Between every pussy lick, Harry had to take breaks for air. He was soaking wet, but her clit tasted so damn good. It was like a juicy fish filet and he wasn’t gonna stop licking and pleasing that sexy woman, sticking his long tongue way into her cunny, fucking her with his mouth. She grabbed his hair, pushed his face violently into her snatch and then begged for him to fuck her.

And fuck her, he did.

Hard.

Harry did not recognize himself.

First, she rode him, just like those sluts on Facial Fest. After a Blowjob POV, now an arse ride. “Am I fucking you good, Mr. C.? Am I your submissive little sex object?”

“Yes, Lucy.”

“Will you give me a good grade on my thesis, Mr. C.?”

“Yes, Lucy,” he said, looking at those wobbling buttcheeks. “And you get high honours in fucking. Fucking good grades.”

A while later, Harry turned around his randy little cockteaser, man-frigging one-night-hooker-fuck and shoved his prick into her pussy from the front. Seeing those incredible boobs wobble in front of his eyes was like going to heaven. It was a sight for the Gods.

He made her cum. It was a sight to die for, Lucy closing her eyes, raising her eyebrows, yearning and burning. It made him want to squirt, too. So he straddled Lucy funbags, fucked them, felt that burning sensation in his cock, slid up to her mouth, opened it, causing her to stretch out her tongue, begging for his sperm.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Lucy begged. “Wank on my face, you maggot.”

Harry’s hand movements now accelerated, his face grimacing, his head bobbing, his dick even bigger and bluer than before. Finally, his cock erupted, a long string of cum skyrocketing into onto her tongue. The second portion shot onto her left cheek, the final dessert of this three course sperm-dinner landing on her nose. Every portion of her face was covered in cum. She licked it all off, swallowing every drop. A stunned silence now came over the room, their mutual copulation inspiring us. His apartment became a symbiosis, the restful oasis of a green acre that had appeared after the hot fire of lust of a burning desire.

The load that came shooting out of his shaft, landing inside her mouth and all over her face, had made them connect.

Suddenly, with all of his sperm covering Lucy’s face, Harry retracted. He saw his upbringing, his sterile parents who never ever seemed to touch each other, his mother calling every attempt to copulate “sick” … and Harry wondered.

Lucy lay there, licking off his sperm, tasting it, savouring it, it seemed, lost in a world of sperm and post-copulation.

“Yummy sperm,” she swooned­. “I love the salty taste of sex. A real cock-tail.”

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed, lost in his world of post-horniness, that feeling he got after sex. Before an orgasm on a tissue: “Wow! I wanna squirt!” After orgasm on a tissue: “I wish I hadn’t!”

Lucy whispered: “Your cum tastes marvellous, it reminds me of that tunafish steak I had in Crete. You have such a great cock, Mr. C.”

There was no response from Harry, so big boobed Lucy looked over while licking off bits of his cum and giggled: “You didn’t like the sex?”

Harry looked over at Lucy, laying there, spread-eagled, pussy-lips spread, covered, cum all over. “Oh, you are a fabulous fuck.”

“So, where’s the problem?” she said, now cleaning off entire strains of sperm with her hand and licking the strains off.

“It’s a sin,” he said.

Lucy laughed. “Who says?”

“Society,” Harry says.

Lucy sighed. “Who are we hurting?”

Harry looked over at Lucy, surprised.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“Who are we hurting?” she repeated. “If it’s a sin, that is. I mean, that’s what I understand as a sin, something that hurts someone else. We are not hurting anyone, are we?”

Harry looked away, wondering silently to himself.

“I never thought of it that way,” he wondered. “No, we are not.”

“And we are just embracing each other, loving each other’s touch,” she continued. “With all the violence that occurs in the world, a little bit of nice and honest sex is not bad, is it? At least, I think it is pretty okay. You’re unattached. I am unattached. We’re just making love and that’s all there is to it.”

“My parents were very uptight,” Harry said after a moment’s pause. “I never even saw them embrace each other.”

“They were missing out on lots of great experiences. That’s probably why you are so shy of girls,” Lucy pointed out, sighing. “And be honest, Mr. C., without sex, we would have no humanity. Sex creates babies. Why do we love babies and think sex is a sin? That makes no sense. It’s like loving food and hating cooking. If we stopped having sex, humanity would disintegrate. We have to set our priorities straight. We call babies holy. Then we should call faithful sex holy, too. I believe in the eternal soul. I believe in reincarnation. I believe in heaven. I also believe in making love.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Lucy, suddenly brave, Lucy’s paradigm shift making him realize how strained he had been. “Damn it, you’re right. Sex is necessary.”

“And faith.”

“So we can have sex as long as we’re honest and faithful about it?” Harry mused.

“We have to,” Lucy shrugged. “Yeah. Violence is a sin. Sex is a necessity. Give me a kiss.”

Harry did.

“I came here to loosen you up,” Lucy winked.

“Here’s to Kama Sutra,” he giggled.

“And the eternal soul beyond sociological compartments,” she replied.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the touch of their bodies sending signals to their souls that they were alone no longer. They became a couple, created four lovely babies, one boy and three girls, with their sex, and wrote books about the joys of marital love, reproduction, procreation and even one book linking inspired artistic creativity to creating a baby. Harry was a changed man with the signals they sent each other and others.

He held lectures on a regular basis about love in sonnets, nudity in art and sex in music and claimed how universal love was and the necessity for human touch.

He claimed that a person who accepted and respected sex as a part of his eternal being never ever could commit a crime.

“We cannot avoid what is a part of us,” was one of his credos, “we can only begin to understand how we can use our parts to benefit all.”

Harry lived a good and very fulfilled life.

Not For The Birds By Andrew Miller

Janice sprinted into the living room, shot past Larry, grabbed a pair of binoculars from the book case. “Unbelievable,” she said, “unbelievable.” She raced toward the back porch.

“Something interesting out there?” Larry had the latest issue of Natural History Magazine in his lap and didn’t look up. “Fall migration’s about to start. Should be some warblers out there.”

The door banged shut behind her. “I’ll let you know.”

She and Larry had arranged the furniture on their porch, an old couch and three wicker chairs, so they could watch birds in their back yard. The had installed floor to ceiling screens on all three sides, which kept out mosquitoes and flies and provided a wind break during chilly weather. Janice adjusted the focus, sighted past three birdfeeders, a row of azaleas, a wooden trellis crawling with morning glories. Holy, holy shit, she thought, I wasn’t dreaming.

She held the binoculars steady, licked her lips, wiggled her butt. “Larry,” she called, “Come quick. Ya gotta see this.”

“Need the bird book?” He tossed the magazine on the table, got to his feet.

“Forget the book, come here.”

“Check that out.” She pointed toward the back yard, handed him the binoculars.

He began a sweep of the hedge. She shook her head. “Not there. The porch on the gray house.”

He let out a low whistle. “My God, look at that. Penis erecti.”

“Yep, subspecies: elongatus.”

“They are really going at it.” He held the binoculars steady. “A rare sight, this time of year, a pair of mattress thrashers. In full breeding plumage.”

“I knew you’d like the double breasted one. Gimme the binocs.”

“Not so fast. Now they’re doing it standing up.” He dropped one hand to his crotch for a quick adjustment. “She’s got her legs wrapped around his waist… clawing his back, sucking on his neck. Passion… passion… whew… he’s got his fingers up her ass…” He leaned forward, tugged at his pants again.

Janice squeezed the bulge in his trousers. “Come on, let me see.”

“Damn, wish I’d bought that tripod. It would be nice to have both hands free.” He passed the binoculars to her.

She zeroed in on their neighbors. “I don’t know what I like better, watching them or listening to you describe the action.” She adjusted the focus. “They’ll make an evening of it. See that bottle of wine on the table?”

“Sure.” Larry leaned forward, squinted through the screen. “Now what’s happening?”

“She’s strapping on a dildo.” Janice shifted left to improve the view. “And,” she glanced at Larry, “hers is longer than his.”

Larry pressed his forehead against the screen. “Longer than mine?”

“Oh, hell no. He looks like a Georgia peanut next to you.”

Larry nodded, stood a little straighter.

“Hang on, he’s down on his knees—great set of buns—ready for his pegging.” Janice moved closer to the screen. “I’d love to sink my teeth into one of his cheeks. Hard, firm, like they were chiseled out of oak.” She glanced at Larry’s pants. “Her fake schlong is ready for action… now she’s on her knees… she’s got both hands on his shoulder… pump-pump-pump… and rubbing his big dick…”

“We’ve got a live sex show. Didn’t have to pay a cent.”

Janice eyed Larry’s trousers. “Whatdaya think, big fella?” She kicked off her shoes, squirmed out of her shorts, black panties, slipped off her light blue polo shirt, unhooked her bra. She hopped on the couch, landed knees first, twisted her butt toward him. “We’ll do it while we watch.”

“I hear you. Damn, we need another set of binocs.”

Larry pulled down his pants, being careful not to damage Mr. Ready-For-Action. He jumped up behind her, scooted close, began to massage her breasts. He pressed in close, poked his rod between her cheeks.

“Slow down. Take off your shirt. Give me some chest-to-cheek grinding with your pecs.”

“Okay if I leave my socks on?”

“What do I care about your socks—get on with it.”

He tossed his shirt on the floor, bent at the waist, squeezed his pecs against her smooth, round buns. While he stroked her breasts with both hands he moved side to side, massaging her cheeks with his chest. She arched her back, raised her butt. He stroked her boobs, continued chest-rubbing. She said in a low voice, “Keep at it, big boy, I’m getting into the mood. A couple of times she felt his penis poke up her crack. She held out the binoculars. “Here, take them.” A few minutes later she turned her head., “Okay…”

He slid inside. In real slow; he knew how she liked it. He gripped the binoculars with one hand, fondled her breasts with the other, started to rev up. “I’ve—never—done–this—before,” he said between strokes. “Never—never—nev—er.”

She reached between her legs, gave his nuts a twitch. Uh-oh, she thought, getting to the hard-ball stage. Won’t be long now. “Slow down, I’m not ready for Mr. P to go limp, lose his umph.”

“Ok.” He eased out, watched the couple for a while, then continued, “She stopped pegging.” He pressed in close to Janice. “Their porch is like ours. Got a couch, table, and bunch of chairs. Except, they’ve got a hot tub. Maybe they’ll jump in later.” Larry slipped inside, moved slower than before. With his free hand, he touched her breasts, felt her nipples firm up.

Janice moved her butt in a circular motion, matching his rhythm. A warm feeling spread down her legs, up to her breasts. “Tell me some more.”

“She yanked off the dildo. Now they’re having a glass of wine.” Larry stopped thrusting, continued to fondle her nipples. “It’s kind of odd…every once and a while…one of them disappears behind some sort of partition…”

“Too get more wine?”

“Maybe, hard to say… okay… they’re getting at it.” He watched for a while, then, “Now she’s got one leg on this little table, and he’s about to go down on her.” Janice closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him inside, made all the richer by his description of love-making from afar. “He’s got his head between her legs—tongue’s a flying—she’s gripping his neck, scratching his back, moaning and writhing…”

“Let me see.”

She took the binoculars. “Ooooo, very good, his butt’s writhing and twisting all over the place… look at that cheek separation.”

Larry slid out, then pressed his chest up close, wrapped his arms around her. Do you know those folks?” His voice was low, husky. She could tell he was close.

“Sure, its Ann and Henry Scott. Don’t know him, but I see her at the gym. Sometimes we go for coffee.”

“Does she walk around naked in the locker room?”

“All the time. And plays with herself in front of the full-length mirror.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You wish.”

Janice flipped over, positioned herself on the arm of the couch so she could see the neighbors. “Do me like Henry is doing Ann.” She squinted through the binoculars. “Gotta make sure they are in view before licking begins.” She shifted position, then motioned him closer. “Come on.” She slipped her legs apart, pulled Larry’s head toward her crotch. “Put that tongue in gear. Our neighbors are ahead of us.”

She slipped her palms behind his neck, locked her fingers. She felt his tongue dance up and down her thighs, tiptoe over her pubics, then zoom straight to her hot spot. Janice sighed, swiveled her hips, sucked in air. His fingers began to tease and tickle, wander about, probe here, probe there. She closed her eyes, stretched her legs, flexed her toes, dug her fingers into the cushions, raised her butt, began to moan.

#   #   #

Larry felt her chest heave, her body tense. She’s getting close, he thought, I gotta go slow, steady, not spoil it by making unexpected moves. He knew she was at a critical stage. Any unexpected motion, distraction from anywhere, would wreck everything. She’d lose her footing, slide off the mountain without ever reaching the summit. He felt her fingers on his scalp, gentle, soft, now on his shoulders, slight pressure. Closer, closer, her fingers said, go a little deeper, but stay gentle. He shifted his position. He knew that the contractions were about to start.

The liquid, rich, whistling notes of the Baltimore oriole are the most beautiful of any American songbird. A series of chirps and trills up and down the scale, part warble, part bubbly gurgle, unlike any musical instrument. Larry had found the ring tone for her on a bird-watching website. She was enchanted by the song, happy to use it instead of any of the preprogrammed ones from the manufacturer. Whenever someone called, she delayed answering for as long as possible, just to hear the oriole’s melodious call.

That wonderful song came from Janice’s phone, which lay on the table in the living room.

Larry’s eyes snapped open. “What the fff…. Let the damn thing ring!”

She sat up, pushed his head aside. “I better get that. Might be Mom.”

Janice bounded into the living room, grabbed the phone, hustled back to the porch. She flopped down on a chair opposite Larry. He clenched his teeth. God oh God, he thought. How did this happen? What class double A jerkoff is calling? If they had only waited five more minutes.

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is your neighbor, Ann Scott. We see each other at Love Your Body Health Club. Remember?”

“Oh yeah. Hi—how’s it going?” She mouthed to Larry, who was slumped on his side, “This will be quick.” She winked, spread her legs, gave a couple hip thrusts.

Ann had more to say: “Henry and I were wondering— are you guys bird watchers?”

“Yes, yes we are.” Janice slid her legs together.

Larry groaned when he heard, ‘Yes we are.’ Oh no, he thought, we’re going somewhere. He looked at his penis, beginning to shrink and shrivel. Soon it would look like a button mushroom that had been abandoned for weeks behind the potato salad on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Larry took a deep breath, let it out slowly. His sex plans had taken an unexpected nose dive. The phone rang when Janice was seconds from an earth-trembling climax. What was supposed to happen—if the phone hadn’t rung—was to bring her to a screaming climax, let her recover, then slip inside, stroke slow and steady, slow and steady, for as long as possible—she’d be climaxing all the time of course—then throttle up for one gigundamunduss, super long, off-the-Richter-Scale organism that would blast their heart rates off the charts, leave them both panting, near death. To miss all that, just because of her Mother on the phone?

Janice took a deep breath when she heard: “We saw that you were watching us.”

“Oh yeah?”

Larry didn’t notice the anxious look wash over her face; he was still agonizing over his shattered plans. They’d open that bottle of Merlot, break out the special cheeses and crackers, the red grapes. Legs tangled up, they’d eat cheese, drink wine, watch their neighbors go at it while he repressurized down below for the next tumble. Grape juices would meander down her chin, drizzle onto her boobs. She would get up every so often, pour them more wine. He could watch her bustle about with no clothes on—luscious, bouncy.

“We’re bird watchers, too. And, we have a 40-mm spotting scope. Great for detail.”

“Uh-huh.” Janice continued to hold her breath.

“Yeah, it’s hidden behind this partition. Don’t want to spook the birds.”

“Yeah…”

“And, we noticed that Larry has a weird line of freckles across his chest.”

“Uh-oh.” Janice frowned, rubbed the back of her neck. She squinted through the screen at their neighbor’s porch. Laughter on the other end of the line.

Larry closed his eyes, continued to dream about the lost sexscapade. After hors d’oeuvres they’d order pizza from Gino’s, slice up some heirloom tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden. Stay naked all evening. Eat on the porch. Light candles, rev up the CD player. It could be a two, maybe three-orgasm night. Finish up by watching an old Sopranos episode. Then a mutual shower. Maybe she’d even suck a little, do a bonus soap-off to tide him over ‘till morning.

“And we’ve been watching you watching us.”

“Oh wow.” Janice sat up straight.

Larry saw her snap to attention. Oh no, he thought. New plans for the evening—but what could be more fun than sex? It might be her good-for-nothing brother Alfie, wanting to go bowling at Bubba la Flubba’s Magic Lanes, five hundred feet from the end of Runway Five Zero at the international airport. If I drive, Alfie will spring for the shoes, plus a round of heart-burn hotdogs and all the diet soda we can drink.

Janice began to exhale as Ann continued, “That’s okay, don’t worry about it. Anyway, it got us thinking. How would you and Larry like to come over, sit in the hot tub with us?

Janice smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“And we can…do whatever. Henry and I are fine with this. Okay with you two?”

“I’ll ask Larry, but pretty sure the answer will be yes.”

“Your man Larry has a scrumptious ass, by the way.”

Janice nodded, smiled, flexed her toes.

Ann continued: “How about staying for dinner? We’ve got a couple of rotisserie chickens on the spit.”

Janice leaned forward in the chair. “Sure. Can we bring anything?”

Larry heard ‘bring anything?’ and groaned. This is worse, he thought, no one brings food to a bowling alley. Not even la Flubba’s. Sounds like dinner at her Mom’s. Tuna-noodle casserole buried in soggy potato chips, a basket of rock-hard biscuits. No beer or wine, only lukewarm tea with no ice. For desert, a mushy apple pie made from some cheap canned filling. Her father waving his arms and yelling about fantastic life was when he was a kid. How he doesn’t give a flip about computers, email, smart phones, Facebook, or texting. Janice’s brother griping because can’t find a job, doesn’t have a girlfriend, can’t drive more than 100 miles without putting two quarts of oil in his old Chevy.

His penis, shriveled and limp, lay like a jellyfish, stranded on the beach at low tide. How can I get out of this family dinner? Janice already said ‘yes.’ Isn’t it time for my prostate exam? Maybe I’ve got a couple more wisdom teeth that need extracting. Aren’t I supposed to be making ‘Bag Your Dog Turds’ posters for the Bird Club?

Janice nodded as she listened to Ann: “Bring some cucumbers and fancy tomatoes from your garden. I’ve got rice pilaf in the crock pot.” Janice saw the pained look on Larry’s face. “And bring towels, anything else needed for a fun evening—know what I mean? It’ll be the four of us.”

Janice nodded. “Sounds fabulous, more than fabulous.”

Larry stared at the ceiling. His charger, once stiff and hard like a hickory stick, had shriveled to nothing, lay hidden under its pubic hair blanket. How did this happen?

Janice smiled. “Okay, we’ll be there in thirty minutes or less. Bye.” She dropped the phone on the table, jumped to her feet, winked at Larry.

“You’ll never guess what’s cooking for the rest of the day, maybe the rest of the night.”

Dirty Harriet Explores the Internet By Dirty Harriet

I switched on my iMac, pulled my short black skirt up to my waist and sat down at my desk. The 27 inch screen glowed at me, and I quickly opened up the Safari browser and clicked on the link in my list of favourites.

I settled into the seat of my chair, the tops of my warm thighs sticking to the leather. I leaned forward a little, feeling my cheeks spread just enough and then I settled back gently, spread against the cool of the seat leather.

The fingers of my left hand gently stroked against my left thigh. My right hand flickered, controlling the magic mouse, shifting it swiftly across the screen, pulling up my favourite webcam website and logging in with just a few clicks.

I changed the basic view to my personal preference, and then found my saved performers. Almost a hundred photos sprang up, each time I hovered over a photo it turned into a live-view of the performer if they were online.

I scanned them all quickly. Mostly females, a few well-muscled men, half a dozen couples. That was what I was looking for, but none of my favourites were online.

My left hand turned into a claw and grazed my thigh.

I wasn’t in the mood to wait.

I clicked live-cams, changed the setting from girls (who I had been looking at a couple of night ago) to couples. There were about twenty to choose from. Some too old, some too fat. Some just not attractive enough.

I thought about checking out the girls, may be I could see one of them instead.

I checked my saved performers, but there wasn’t anyone there who would do it for me.

I could try downloading some porn, but I checked the time. It was late. My need was now.

My left hand continued to stroke, my right hand eagerly searching for someone to help get me off.

Then the notification popped up.

Bisexcouple1 had come online. They were one of my favourites. I couldn’t help but grin.

I clicked on the notification and it took me to their free live preview.

My left hand was working its way up inside my left thigh. I could feel the heat there buried between my legs, I could feel the ache. I tensed my thighs together, squirming in the seat.

I typed out hi, hru? (how are you).

They responded enthusiastically, I was a regular and they remembered me.

I’m wanting some nasty action, you guys ready for prvt (private), I typed.

For you always, they typed back.

I clicked on the button that said “private show” and the screen blinked and we were suddenly together. Just the two of them and me. No one else to annoy either of us or to interrupt.

She had long black hair almost to her slim waist. She wore a virtually see-through skin-tight body-suit, showing off her ample breasts and long slender legs. She had a pretty face and dark gorgeous eyes. He was slim, a little older than her at 26. Short hair and a big cock and loads of energy.

We wave at each other as my webcam clicks on, now they can see me and I can see them.

She blows me a kiss, then he disappears off-screen to work himself to hardness while she seductively removes the bodysuit. Her body makes me want to touch her, her alabaster skin looks so soft and clean. I want to lick her. To kiss her. To touch her and feel her body against mine.

My fingers press against the lips of my vagina as she undresses.

Then he is there. I can’t remember either of their names. If I wasn’t so horny I could talk to them and get to know them a little better. I know they are married and live somewhere in Romania, that’s as much as I remember. What I care about is that they are sexy as hell.

What you want us to do for you today darling, they ask me. It’s almost always her typing. I think her English is better, but both of them understand all of my instructions.

Just the usual I say, suck his cock as deep as you can for me. Then I want you to fuck doggy style and I want to see that pretty face up close and I want him to fuck you as hard as he can. And then I want to see him cum over that pretty face for me.

I put a smiley face after my instructions.

She looks at me and winks, and her husband has come back onscreen, his cock big and hard and pointing up at her face. She grabs it and takes it into her mouth. She devours it. She sucking the end of it, nibbling it, kissing it, licking it. Then she takes it deep into her mouth. All the way. She gags and releases it. Then takes it deep again. They know exactly what I like.

She continues with the deepthroat. Taking him as deep as she can, until she can’t take any more. She gasps and his massive cock pops out. Her breasts heaving as she wrestles to breath. My fingers feel the trickle of wetness between my thighs, then press against the lips of my vagina again.

He takes hold of her head and pushes her face into his crotch, his cock entering her mouth, going deep into her throat. She struggles to release herself but he holds her there as she struggles and my fingers enter me.

He holds her head and throat-fucks her. His cock moving in and out of her wide-open mouth, her head angled up so he can enter her as deep as possible and look down into her pretty eyes. She chokes and pushes him away, wiping tears from her eyes and spit from her chin. She smiles at me and I smiles back. She is so pretty. She looks beautiful with tears in her eyes and cock in her mouth.

Two fingers slip inside my vagina, my thumb and the palm of my hand resting against my clitoris, gently brushing it.

He pushes her head down onto his cock and holds it there while she struggles to release herself. Her hands pushing at his thighs. She looks like she is choking on his cock, and then he lets her go and she gasps in a breath. Her eyes continue to water, and she wipes her eyes as he gently slaps her cheeks with his cock.

You want doggy now, she asks.

You like to suck that big cock, I ask her.

I like it so much, she says, licking her lips. She’s so sexy without even trying.

Yes please, doggy style, and fuck her hard, that’s how I like it, I tell them.

Wish you were here, she tells me.

Me too, I tell them.

She positions herself in front of the camera so that she is facing it. I get a nice view of her face and her breasts are clearly visible. Her arse is there just in front of where he kneels, behind her. He gets into position, inserts his big cock and as he enters her I slip another finger inside myself, pressing more firmly with my palm against my clitoris.

He smiles at me, he is shy and quiet and not normally one for engagement.

Fuck her hard for me, make me fucking cum on your big fat cock, I type.

He nods eagerly. She licks her lips and smiles at me.

He slams his cock into her. Then another hard slam. Immediately they are fucking. Working their bodies against each other. Grinding into each other.  They work up the speed and ferocity, he is banging her hard, their bodies slamming together until I can hear it, his cock slapping deep inside her. Her face is a picture of pleasure and pain combined. My hand is slapping against my crotch, my fingers delving deep inside, my palm pressing against my clitoris. My right hand leaves the mouse and flicks against my blood-filled nub, pressing, pushing, flicking, brushing.

He is fucking her hard, her tits are banging against each other. Her face is screwed up, a little bit of pain, plenty of pleasure. He pulls her hair and her face lifts up, her back arches and her breasts heave towards me. She looks at the screen, watching me watching her. My hand flaps faster and faster.

The right hand fingers flickering, brushing against my clitoris. Pleasure building.

They briefly pause to get their breath back, big deep breathes, and then start again. He’s banging away into her backside. He pulls her arms back behind her, fighting to dig his fat cock deeper inside her. Her beautiful breasts slapping up and down. She is heaving against him, he enters her so deep it hurts now, but she’s enjoying it as much as I am. She is really being fucked now.

My fingers work my vagina, left hand slapping slapping slapping, three fingers working inside me, in and out, in and out. Like his cock inside her. My right hand working my clitoris. Pleasure bubbling.

Then he pulls out, he stands on the bed in front of the camera and she is there, kneeling before him. She quickly adjusts the camera and opens her mouth. He tugs on his cock hard, she takes his balls in her mouth, and then pulls him closer to her with her hands on his buttocks.

He cries out, sperm shooting over her pretty face and she smiles as the last of it drips down into her mouth. She licks it around her lips.

And that’s when the explosion in my groin takes over and I cry out, my fingers slipping out as my vagina tightens, my clitoris throbbing ecstasy through my entire body.

She uses her finger to collect his spunk and licks it from her fingers. My left hand goes to my mouth and I lick my finger, tasting my pleasure just as she tastes his.

Thank you, you sexy bitch, I tell her.

Always a pleasure for you darling. Hope to see you again soon.

I nod, they will see me again.

My leather seat is damp with my sex juice. I’d better clean up, I think and click off. My pleasure reached.