Adventures of a Sex Addict: Hamburg Part Two By Mr. E

The next day I wasn’t intending to go to the Sex House. I wasn’t intending to go back to see Anna. She was gorgeous, she was soooo sexy. But there are hundreds of other options for sex on my doorstep in Hamburg.

And if I went back what would I do with her?

It was a wet and rainy day and as usual I had a free afternoon. So I decided I would buy a toy from the sex shop that was constantly open next door to my hotel and have another play with the lovely Anna. I bought a toy, a bullet on a string with a controller to go up my butt and give me pleasant vibrations. The bloke in the shop asked if I wanted it taken out of the wrapper, so I said yes for ease of transport and put it in my pocket. He told me to have fun, and I smiled, intending to. I popped a quick Viagra, not that Anna needed any help making me hard, but I wanted to enjoy myself as much as possible and the stimulant always took a bit of the pressure off.

Round the corner and straight up the stairs to the first floor. I wasn’t particularly worried if Anna wasn’t there, I could always find someone else to give me a hand.

But she was, a few other girls were in her corridor too.

I walked straight up to Anna, she smiled at me and asked if I wanted to go in. I was half way through the door before she’d finished speaking.

I gave her a hundred euros, there was no point messing about.

She asked if I wanted the same as yesterday. I showed her the toy and then realised there were no batteries in it. Damn.

She said she could use her fingers. I nodded, yes please.

I stripped off and lay down beside her. She started by kissing me all over, kissing my neck and chest and working her way down my torso. It was hot and sexy and tender and sweet. It made me like her more.

She slipped a condom over two fingers, and although her hands were pretty small I was a little worried. She dripped oil on her hand and then positioned herself next to my hips. I raised one knee and tilted towards her. Anna positioned her fingers right there, between my buttocks, and then pushed.

My cock stood straight up and she began working it with her other hand. She pressed in deeper into my anus and then pulled my cock hard, working me from both angles. Almost immediately I was gasping and panting for breath, the sensation almost overwhelming.

Watching this sexy young woman kneeling between my thighs, one hand on my cock, the other between my butt cheeks: it was incredible.

She worked me hard, my cock was so close to bursting I was sure my cum would hit the ceiling. But I didn’t. There were so many times I wanted to cum, but stopped myself. I wanted to feel her mouth on me again. She wanked me hard, I was gasping at every stroke. Then she stopped and asked if I wanted her to suck me. Oh yes, oh yes I wanted it so much.

She changed position, kneeling beside me, her head facing away from me, her bum easily reachable. My hand wandered all over her body as she sucked my cock. She went deeper, taking almost all of it into her mouth. She sucked harder and for longer than the day before. I just lay there enjoy it.

Then I asked her to lay next to me, I snuggled into her hot, sexy body. Her curves so soft. And I hugged her tightly as she wanked me. Then I wanked and hugged her tighter. As I came I cried out her name involuntarily. It was only after that I thought about how weird it was, especially as I work with someone called Anna. Who was I thinking about when I closed my eyes and hugged that gorgeous body to me, kissing her chest, and yanking my cock until I came all over myself.

Anna chatted to me again afterwards, but also let me know we’d gone over our time. I was happy to give her another fifty and a tip on top. Every minutes with that girl was like visiting heaven. She made me feel amazing, unlike any woman I’ve been with for a long time.

If only I hadn’t broken my cock (over-used and slightly sore) and had more than an hour on my last day I would have visited again. Good job I wasn’t there for a week, my bank balance wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

Adventures of a Sex Addict: Hamburg, Part One By Mr E

I was heading back to my hotel, a bit tired from lots of walking. It was about five-ish and I still wasn’t hungry. Wasn’t really in the mood either, but I hadn’t found any erotic massage places nearby when I’d searched earlier and couldn’t be bothered to go back into the centre of town. I saw this Sex House place the first night as I’d walked to my hotel. It was dark, but not late and I thought it wouldn’t be too busy. Stuff gets started pretty late in Hamburg. Also, I walked passed an SM club that looked interesting but that was shut. I’d wanted to check out the brothel, it’s one of those where you go in and walk the corridors, like a big hotel where the girls sit in the doorways in lingerie. There weren’t too many people walking passed (it’s is on the main road!) so I thought I’d take a quick look.

Went up a few stairs to the first corridor, empty, but only three rooms that way.

Up the stairs to the first floor and there’s a bored looking Romanian girl who didn’t even look up from her phone. I went left and further down the corridor there were a load of English blokes chatting to the first girl in the corridor, so I turned around and went to the opposite corridor.

The lights are red and you can’t see too much until you get up close and I saw this blonde girl at the end of the corridor, so I walked all the way down. There was a brunette in front of the blonde and no one behind. The dark haired girl said hello, I said hello back but I hadn’t taken my eyes off the blonde. She asked me something in German. I asked if she spoke English. You want to come inside, she asked. How much I said. 50 euro suck and fuck. I said yes. She went inside her room and I followed her, she closed the door behind her.

Her room was better lit and she was really very pretty, and super hot. I handed her 50. Her name was Anna. She took off her bra. Big natural boobs, tight flat stomach, peachy butt, long legs. Although she was six inches shorter when she took her off heels.

I told her I just wanted her to watch her play with herself and I didn’t want sex. You want blowjob, she asked. It took me a whole minute to think about that, then I said no thanks. She got on the bed and I pulled down my jeans and sat on a chair and watched her. She was sexy as hell. Damn! She asked if I wanted to come closer. If I wanted to touch her. I did, I wanted to touch her a whole lot. I lay on the bed and watched as she pushed a toy inside her and kept licking the finger of her other hand to touch herself. I touched her flat stomach, I could feel her abs. I touched her breasts and she smiled at me. It’s good, she asked. I nodded, words failing me. She was gorgeous.

Anna shifted on the bed and made more room for me. I was half laying back in the bed, jeans around my knees, stroking myself as she played with her toy. One hand on her boobs. We did that for a little while, then changed position and she asked if I wanted her to wank me, so I said yes. She got some oil while I took off my jeans. One hand started working my cock. It’s good, she asked. I nodded and she smiled. I was lying on the bed, she was kneeling down next to me. Her hand working me expertly. Another few minutes and she pressed her other hand against my balls and I gasped with pleasure. She squeezed gently, working away at my cock, the oil all wet and slippery.

She changed arms, changed position, kneeling on all fours next to me. Telling me I could touch her if I wanted. While I watched her my hand slid over her slim body, her skin so smooth, her curves so well proportioned. I wanted to touch all of her, my hands not enough. She changed hands a few times and then she asked if I wanted a blowjob. When I’d gone into the brothel I wasn’t sure what I wanted (things were going fine with my girlf and I was even missing her a bit).

I’d been in there twenty minutes, my time was up. I said yes, I want a blowjob. She asked me to wash my cock, the oil doesn’t work well with condoms. I paid her some more money and we had little chat. Then I took off my fleece and T-shirt. I lay back on the bed, she asked me if it was good and I said yes. She slipped the condom on and took my cock into her mouth. She sucked me, her fingers pressing against my balls, I was groaning and gasping and writhing beneath her lips. Then she used more pressure, I could feel her lips hard on my cock. I could feel the shift in tension and it felt incredible.

I could remember the last time I’d had a blow job like that, it was about 15 years ago!

Anna continues to suck hard, my hand explored her body as she knelt on all fours beside me. She kept looking back at me out of the corner of her eye. So sexy.

The enjoyment continued to build and build. I wanted to cum but I didn’t want it to end. She was so hot. She sucked, her lips so hard on my cock.

I came. The condom filled, and Anna gently removed her lips. She gave me a little stroke of affection.

You need to wash up, she asked, but I said no, I would go round the corner back to my hotel. She went to the bathroom as I got dressed. I was still hard, so I kept the condom on but used the kitchen towel she gave me to wrap up my cock in case of spillage. As she was washing her hands and mouth she watched me as I got dressed in her bathroom mirror. I can see you, she said with a smile. We continued to chat for a few minutes. We’d been chatting despite her bad English almost all the time I wasn’t gasping or she had her mouth full. I gave her a tip and told her I might be back tomorrow if I had any energy left. I literally gave her everything in my wallet, which was probably only about 100 euros, so I had to get some more money out. She said I’m welcome anytime. Very sweet girl.

It’s All in the Words By Charles E.J. Moulton

I sat behind that incredible looking chick, flabbergasted. There was no other word I could use to describe her. Those humungous knockers, luscious like juicy watermelons. Enjoying the sight of her astounding boobs not only raised my dick about three feet, she had my heart racing like crazy. Dive into that cleavage, boy, I thought to myself, and vanish. Move into Chrissie’s wet and pouting little vagina forever.

I know, I know, I really was supposed to be concentrating on work. This short conference had a bunch of us together from the theatre that had not done the show before. Chrissie had been assigned to brief us through the moves by the way of a video of last season’s premiere. So I wrote down my notes in the textbook, moves and intensions and so on, but all I could think of was throwing this fucking cockteaser over the desk and ramming my hard penis into her pussy from behind, watching her voluptuous bumcheeks wobble like Jell-O as I thrusted toward a five-gallon-of-sperm-climax.

Even worse, she wore a tight blouse that really showed off her curves in such a delicious way, her bra pressing down upon her voluptuous titties under her striped shirt, pressing so hard into her Victoria’s Secret and so bad into her meaty boobies that I literally saw her rack eagerly hoping to hop out onto my happy prick.

And then the belly free bit, the open skin-space between her black blouse and her beige pants. A little bit of cuddly flesh, revealing enough to leave something to the dirty imagination: the wet dream of ripping off those cute little trousers, showing off two peachy apricotlike buttcheeks, welcoming enough to make me wanna fuck the shit out of her real hard.

That blonde, flowing hair, that friendly smile, those sexy dimples, that happy-go-lucky and very open dickpleaser-personality. All of that made me wonder how many men she had fucked and sucked or how many men – and women, for that matter – had wanted to fuck and lick her lucious little pussylips.

I bet you want dick real bad, you dirty  crumpet, I felt like telling her.

Her ass, oh, how it molded into those pants. Perfection. I really sat there, imagining myself reaching into her flower-decorated panties, fingering her throbbing and dicklusting pussy. As I seriously took notes, trying my best to concentrate on work – damn, boy, work, work, work, damn it – I imagined this slut sitting naked on her desk, spreading her legs, opening her three rows of wavey pussyfolds, showing me the pink inside of her wet cunnilingus, asking me to eat her vagina. In my dreams, she sat on my face and I drank her cunny willingly, drinking litres of clitjuice in the process through a five foot straw. How’s that for a smoothie? Holy cow, she really had me by the balls.

I walked away from work that night absolutely confused. The only damn thing I could think of was how to get into her beige pants. Fucking that hot cockteaser was probably the best thing that could happen to any horny man. I knew, however, that I could not fuck her. Okay, I would have adored to. But a married man does not fuck around, even if I had enjoyed daydreaming of having Chrissie’s pouting little lips surrounding and devouring my squirting cock. That face covered in cum. How wonderful was that? Wow. That’s how wonderful.

Okay, I told myself, take a cold shower, calm down, do some math, buy an algebra book, for God’s sake, do your taxes, anything just to get that cocksucking little whore Chrissie out of your mind.

I noticed that writing a made up story about Chrissie in my smartphone app sort of healed the aching testosterone levels. It felt, inside, like I really had fucked that babe long and hard, perhaps even sticking my schwanz into that teasing bitch’s butthole for a whimper and a squeeze, turning her office desk into Cock Ewing’s Giant Hot Dog Rodeo Ride.

Gee Wiz, I desperately needed a cigarette.

Whew.

There’s a hole lot of fun a red blooded wanker can have without ever being unfaithful.

It’s all in the words.

What did I need now?

Oh. Okay. Maybe a wank.

Or fucking my wife.

Oh, yes. Indeed. My wife.

The world’s best cocksucker.

She really knew how to please a man’s long dick.

So nice and easy coming home.

I feel my dick growing now.

I gotta go and get myself some really hot and wet little pussy.

Adventures Of A Sex Addict: Tributes By Mr E

Based on true events.

For those of you who have never heard of tributes in a sexual deviant/perve context let me explain:

Women/ladies/pornstars/wanna-be pornstars, models, horny girls; post suggestive and damn right erotic photos of themselves on social media: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, you know the ones. Most of these photos are nudes, some are headshots with bare shoulders, some are full-length body shots. And everything in between. Some cater to fetishes, so there are hands, there are feet photos, there are breast photos, and even close-ups of other lady parts. I think you get my drift.

So, the ladies post the photos. Then they wait.

Then the retweets start to flood in. The comments. And the likes.

Men take these photos, the head-shots, the boobshots, the nudes, the nakeds, the feet, and the knees (don’t ask me!), they print them out and they offer tribute. In the form of sperm, spunk, jism. They cum on the photos and then post photos of them back on social media.

Some of the girls like to have a little competition, posting their naked photos and giving “prizes” to the fastest shooter.

There’s a girl in London I follow on twitter. She seems to spend most of her day having her face spunked on. In real life, not just tribute. She invites men from Tinder to cum all over her face. Normally she likes more than one, so she’s properly covered. Her boyfriend joins in when he’s available, but when he’s not she’s not exactly fussy.

She makes videos. Sells them on manyvids. She does pretty well, judging from the jewellery, the Gucci shoes, the Porsche she drives. Her name’s Mariah, or at least that’s what she calls herself. Originally from Italy, but living in London most of her life, she makes money as an independent pornstar.

She’s one of many such girls I follow on twitter and Insta, along with hundreds of other pornstars, webcam girls, and escorts.

Mariah had a competition the other day. She posted while I was trawling through some porn pics and vids, so I thought I’d give it a go. I was there, looking at the photo on my ipad and printing it off, stroking away at my cock, when someone posted. The photo all spunked over.

I was too slow. My printer was still printing out, dammit.

I contacted her via direct message. Asked her if she’d be interested in meeting up. She told me a price. I thought it was a bit steep. I only wanted to cum on her face, I could get full sex for half that.

Sometimes I wish being a sex addict was cheaper. Actually quite often. I’d already spend two hundred pounds on webcams that month, and three on escorts, and it was only the tenth.

I needed a cheaper option.

There was this girl at work. She was cute, blonde, a bit chubby, but with big boobs. If I didn’t have a girlfriend, or if she didn’t know I had a girlfriend, then I may well have tried to shag her. As it was we were friendly. I knew she’d given a blowjob to one of the contractors, she knew I’d had sex with a woman older than my mum. We’d somehow got to the subject of sex and shared some stories, obviously I had plenty, and we’d bonded.

She was having a hard time at work, so I arranged a meeting and we had a chat. She told me how she felt. I listened and tried to comfort her. Eventually, fifteen minutes in, we started talking about sex. She was having it off with a married Frenchman who told her he didn’t like her having sex with other men. I told her about the tributes.

She was always complaining about how poor she was. I told her I wanted to do “live tributes” if only I could find the right girl. I said I’d pay, may be £50 for the right girl.

I left the seeds to grow.

A couple of weeks later I contacted her again. Told her how horny I was. Said I wasn’t getting any action at home and I needed to have a wank.

She asked me what I was going to do about it. I told her I couldn’t do anything in my open plan office. I asked her if she was busy. I asked if she wanted to earn some money.

She said no, and yes. She said she would meet me.

At lunchtime we rendezvoused. I took her to a meeting room, we locked the door and we sat down with a table between us, staring at each other for a moment.

“I’m not sure about this,” she said.

I pulled out my erection. Then my wallet. I put the money in her hand. She was just staring at my cock in shock.

“I’m going to wank, if you want to take off your top that would be so fucking sexy. I want to cum for you,” I told her, and then starting stroking my dick.

I left my trousers on, my cock pocking out through the zip.

She watched me for a few moments, then pulled off her jacket. She got comfortable on the chair. Then she pulled her top off over her head. She sat there half naked. Her full breasts barely contained by her well-fitted bra.

“Damn you are sexy,” I said to her and started stroking harder and faster. The head of my cock bobbing towards her.

She smiled and licked her lips as she watched me wanking.

I watched her, maintaining eye-contact as much as possible, but checking out her big round breasts. She squeezed them together for me. Then pulled one, then the other, over the top of her bra.

I stroked my cock harder and faster. The energy was building. I could tell this wasn’t going to last long. Being at work, the possibility of being caught, doing something with a friend, someone not my girlfriend, all added to the excitement.

I stepped towards her, my thighs hitting the table.

“So sexy,” I murmured and then groaned as my spunk shot across the table towards her. She looked down at my spunk, made a quick disgusted face and then stepped away.

She put her breasts back in her bra, pulled her top over her head while I wiped up the mess. A pocketful of tissues that I’d brought along coming in very handy.

I gave her a peck on the cheek and said: Same time next week?
She nodded uncertainly.

We flirted every day until we met again. It was three session of my wanking until she finally got completed naked for me. She was self-conscious and it was cute. We were standing there staring at each other. My cock in my hand, her fingers inside her pussy. Mutual masturbation is slightly weird, but fun. Standing there watching someone else cumming for you is still fucking hot though. Orgasms, like yawns, are contagious.

It was the fourth time that she let me touch her. I grabbed her boob and she gasped. The next time I got sticky fingers and licked her nipples.

The sixth time I bent her over the table and we fucked. It was hard and energetic. I pounded into her as fast and hard as I could. She groaned with pleasure as I leaned over her back, my fingers rubbing her clit as my cock sunk deep inside her. I grabbed her hips and pulled her into me while I thrusted. There was no way I could get deep enough inside her. I kissed the back of her neck and she swiped my face away with her fingers. Too much like boyfriend/girlfriend. It just made me thrust harder and faster inside her, trying to batter my way into her womb. One of my fingers hovered near her arsehole, but I didn’t push my luck.

I spunked all over her arse. I didn’t give her any money that time, we decided it was too much like prostitution if I paid her for sex.

Then she got a boyfriend.

She said she couldn’t have sex with me anymore. I asked her why, and she said we shouldn’t be doing it. It wasn’t fair on our partners.

We still did the tribute. Just no touching this time. I gave her fifty pounds again. She even let me cum on her tits every now and then, for old time’

Counter Clockwise By Alex Matthews

I was out getting in my 10-15 miles on my mountain bike and the morning was cool, crisp, a little damp. It reminded me of how I woke that morning, horny and fever-broken from one those dream you deny but can’t dismiss. You’re straight, horny as hell, but straight.

I’ve always gone against the grain, modestly, subtly, and this early morning ride was going to be counterclockwise against the regular flow of traffic. But since it Sunday morning in the Bible-belt I’d be lucky to see some deer and brake for a box turtle. Just pay attention damnit, I tell myself, you need the workout, let go, but keep your head up.

I get a good pace, breathing deep in and out with alternating strokes as Miles, AC/DC, Superchunk and Coltrane shuffle through my ears. Crossing over the abandoned dirt road that I drop in by the “new” old mill cabin and drop down onto the trail that follows the stream up to the dairy barn pasture where I’ll take my break, hydrate, pop a butterscotch candy in my mouth, let the world go by for a few minutes BAM!

I’m over the bars but manage to unclip and roll into the fall. Stand up straight suddenly, shake my eyes clear and hear “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?!” from the lush green foliage along the inside of the single-track. Males and pissed off. Well so much for that fantasy of meeting a sweaty, fit woman on the ride. Oh shit…

“Sorry dude, all my fault,” I apologize helplessly, meekly, ashamed. I help him up and notice a strong grip in my hand as I help him up to full, lean, posture covered in kudzu and grime. Instinctively I brush dirt of his smooth spandex top of his shoulder, then off his chest, brush a nipple, was that a piercing? From the look in his eyes I’m going to say yes.

“Jesus Christ!” he seethes, “Don’t you know which way to go?”

“Both ways I guess,” and for the first time in my life I have a rap, a pick-up line, that comes to me right then and there at the moment and not five hours later as I stroke my cock. And I deliver it staring into the smirk of a tall, in-shape mountain biker, about my age, ahem late 40’s, alone in the woods, with my hand still on his chest and my shorts getting tighter.

Our bikes aren’t wrecked, my front rim is bent, and the derailleur is wonky, but only his front tire is flat. Otherwise, the bikes are good, but we’re both filthy with sweat, trail muck and a little short of breath. “We should go to the cabin across the bridge, catch our breath, assess the damage,” I suggest, going with the vibe of a morning and day changing radically before my eyes.

“Good idea,” he says and tries brushing the clay off my shoulder, then squeezing it, “How’s your collarbone? If you have broken it yet riding you will.”

“It’s good but first time for everything I guess.”

The walk to the cabin takes some time. Not sure if it’s our “injuries” or just being outside. Turns out we share that appreciation for the outdoors and he apologize for his behavior earlier. “No worries, dude, it was my fault entirely,” and he winces, and I limp along. We have more in common than at first blush. We’re both divorced and horny rather than interested in a relationship. “Fuck buddies is what you mean?” I ask trying to be flirtatious, “Nah, fuck babes,” and winks. I can’t tell if he’s coy or checking me out.

The cabin is open but inside accommodations are sparse, a table, a bench, an empty hearth. It’s a nice aroma, musty, solitary. “No bed,” one of us jokes, the other tests the table, “We could put up here for the night, till the storm blows over…”

We sit side by the side on the table in silence. I doze off and awake to find him asleep on the face down on the bench. I take stock of his body, his taut thighs, the salt and pepper of his beard. “Hey,” I shake him, “You ok?”

He moans lowly, I start to trail his calf with my finger. His eye opens, “My name is Jeff,” he says. “Mike,” I reply, “Nice to meet you. Do you get some rest?” He stands up and stretches.

His sweat tastes clean with a faint, gritty hint of dirt. I run my hands over his ass teasing myself as much as him. He grunts faintly. I moan warmly. I put my finger in the elastic band of his shorts and our crotches push forward to meet.

I’m was unsure of what to do. Some things don’t matter when lust and desire are involved, especially things that once seemed to mean so much like gender and orientation. Desire overrides them. But fear of opening up on a passionate level can stop us dead in our trucks no matter how fast our heart beats or how heavily our cock throbs. I thrust my crotch against his and the texture of the spandex on spandex sends shivers along the lengths of our dicks like two firm branches rubbing together to start a fire. My cock feels two feet long.

I put my hand on his ear, his breath warms my neck, God I want his cock and him! The realization makes my thoughts swirl like I’m being thrown off my bike again.

I always carry a condom – it’s a weird damsel in distress on the bike trail fantasy – but now I starting to think, maybe today, here, now, with him? He sucks my finger and then slides it under his warm moist balls and squats a little as I probe. I turned him around and massage his brown eye and prostate with my knuckle. By the way, yes to the question above. Thankfully.

I move us over to the old wooden table in the center of the cabin. Two curtain-less windows let in the daylight. The sweat glistens on his back. I lick him clean. Then slipping the condom on to my cock I say, “Baby, my cock wants you, do you want my cock?” and he insinuates his tight ass into my rod and purrs “Fuck yes.”

I lay him on his back on the table, hook his legs under my arms and stroke his firm staff while grinding my bulging dick into his taint. I lick the pre-cum off my hands then go to my knees and take him in my mouth. So warm, so thick, his cock’s aroma fills my head as I slobber the length of its shaft. His balls taste sweaty and sweet, ivory soap turns me on, and I struggle to keep him in my mouth and when he says “Oh baaaaaby!” and I raise off him to watch his prick spasm spunk into the half light of the late morning. I grab his legs in my arms and entered.

He’s on fire as his muscles contract to meet my surprising aggressiveness with a teasing dalliance like he was just isn’t going to give it up so easily. I close my eyes and run my nose along his instep and plead, “Please give me that ass, I need it” and he relents. I go balls-deep and stream cum into the condom then collapse, unaware of the world, out of it, never to return to it again.

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.

Work By M. Earl Smith

It was 11:30 on a dreary Friday morning in November. The thermostat had dropped almost thirty degrees in the past month, and the coolest days of fall were upon us. You were sitting at your desk, working away on some worthless spreadsheet, when the text message popped up on your screen. It was, of course, from me.

“Go back to the same locker room and take a selfie for me.”

Shaking your head, you looked at the clock and laughed. “Y”

“Trust me on this one.”

Sighing, you went to the aforementioned room and positioned yourself in the mirror. With an exasperated look on your face, you lined up the picture. Little did you remember that this was the weekend I was due back from Philadelphia. As you hit the shutter button, I clicked the door locked, and stepped around the corner, draping my arms across your shoulders as I did.

You started for a moment, but, upon seeing who it was, you grinned, and craned your neck upwards for a kiss. Our lips locked, and my hands slid from around your neck, starting at your hips, which I used to pull you against me, so you could feel how hard I was. Grinning, I slid my hands under your shirt, under your bra, and on to your breasts, where I teased your nipples between my thumb and forefinger.

“I want you. Right here, right now. It’s been a month, and that’s far too long.” By this point, I was whispering in your ear, nibbling as I did so.

Without a word, you reached behind you and, unzipping my pants, pulled my cock out, working it with your hand in slow, steady strokes. Someone knocked gently on the door, but we both managed to ignore it as I worked your pants down your slender hips and onto the floor.

The knock came again, a little more insistent, but we ignored it as the person let out an exasperated mutter and went on their way. After a few more strokes, you grinned, and slowly started to bend at the waist as I pulled your panties to one side. After rubbing your pussy with my two fingers a few times, I chuckled, and quickly slid my cock into you, reaching forward to take your hair and pull you gently back.

The month apart hadn’t killed any passion between us, as we both came hard and fast right where we stood. As we finished, the knocking started again, almost at a pound, as we both giggled and worked our pants up. I used your hair to pull your mouth around to me, and after a passionate kiss, I let go.

“Text me later.” I said simply, tossing the name badge I had used to gain entry to the building in a trash can. You followed me to the window as I crawled out, jogging across the parking lot to climb onto a motorcycle. Tossing my helmet on, I fired up the bike and peeled out.

 

The Wonder of Women By Charles E.J. Moulton

I have always been psychic. Feeling people. Spiritually, I mean. I go into a room and immediately feel the atmosphere. If it’s good, I am flying, baby. If it’s bad, I am down to the ground.

To top that off, I admire the female anima, the suave caress of the female soul, the force that inspires us to create art, make music, make love, write poems.

Often, when I sit in the bus, and a beautiful woman comes and sits down, that female anima comes gleaming and glittering over at me. So, ever so subtily and carefully, I study her, looking at the curve of her breasts, the swaying of her buttcheeks, her lips and how they would feel around my hard cock. In my mind, I spread that girls legs, lick her pussy only to shove my hard dick into her throbbing clit. I have made love to hundreds of women in my mind like that, squirting cum into their hot and willing mouths.

But it isn’t just their bodies that arouse me. In fact, it’s the anima that raises my prick: that endearing magic of elegance, eloquence and arrogance that signifies the female spirit. We men love to obey them, kiss them, unwrap them and fuck them until they beg for more. Their beauty is endless and therefore endless in arousal, always begging for more. The female energy invites you into endless copulation, just as endless as the soul is endless in conciousness.

Wonder, oh, the wonder of wonderful women.

As I was sitting in the bus today, not only did I study the girl that came up and sat opposite me, the curve of her boobies and the swaying of her arse. I also imagined what it would be like to be her, have a hot and bothered male with a growing cock studying you like a meaty and marinated steak.

Then I closed my eyes. I imagined myself not having a penis, but a vagina. Then I imagined having round hips, big tits and erect nipples. I imagined myself making myself up every day, choosing a bra and panties and a skirt and then walking out in high heels and having all those men rubberneckin’ me, looking at my tight butt, dreaming of sticking their fat schlongs in my hot little fanny.

I imagined what it felt like to have that long hard dick shoved into me like I had shoved my cock into dozens of pussies before.

Had I been my dream fuck, having my stern rod catapulted into my hot cunt, what would I have felt? How does it feel to have a long hot banana shooting up and out of your crack?

As I sat there, fantasizing about my dream fuck, I realized that, believing in reincarnation, that I might have been a woman in a previous life, with all that entails, the ups and the downs, the periods and the hormonal outbursts.

And I realized that sex connects souls. It focuses two people’s emotions with one purpose: symbiosis. Unity. The act that binds a couple, at best, produces a baby. Sex is nature’s necessity, a foundation for our survival. It is peaceful and built into our DNA.

I believe in reincarnation, in the existance of the afterlife and in a concious and emotional God that put his energy into everyone’s emotions: a source we can tap into whenever we want. A source we need no religion to find.

Soul.

I also believe in logic.

What was before the big bang and where does the universe end? Microcosmos vs. Macrocosmos? These questions have one answer: a divine intelligence.

I also believe in Jesus’ resurrection.

Jesus chose a woman to spread the word of his resurrection: Mary Magdalene.

There were more gospels that were not published. The patriarchal priesthood would have been out of a job if the anima had ruled as it would have deserved.

The male priests grabbed the trophy of priesthood, although women clearly were wiser.

Adam and Eve’s shame was their downfall. Or does an animal feel ashamed when creating a baby? So why do humans love babies but discard how they are made?

Sex is kissing, hugging, loving.

Why do we cheer in movies when someone is killed and cringe when they make love?

Weren’t we taught to love one another?

Violence is sin.

Faithful sex is not.

Think about it.

It’s just simple logic.

Beverly Hills Rebel By Charles E.J. Moulton

I glanced at my Rolex, shifting into second gear, waiting for the moron in front of me to decide if he wanted to fall asleep by the wheel or not. Drumming with my fingers at the steering wheel, I conjured up even more impatience in my soul as to how long it would take to get there. My watch told me that Betty was in the last half hour of her shift. I would make it, too, if there weren’t so many snails stopping traffic.

“Yo, bozo,” I yelled, rolling down the window of my Lamborghini, “what did ya do at your driving exam? Take sleeping pills?”

I drove past the guy, an old codger swallowing the gearshift, who gave me the finger as I drove by. I waved back, returning the favor. “Fuck you, too,” I spat, “I’ll be a lawyer in a year. Then I am gonna sue your ass.”

The inner city hustled, bustled, just like it always did on weekends, assisted by the blasting of my stereo, playing a tune that was by now an oldie: “We Built This City” by Starship. Friday nights kept their promises. Although I hadn’t officially begun my professional life yet, I certainly had a long working day in court behind me. That gave me the right to have my share of relaxation.

I swung delicately into my destined street, my previous anger subsiding, realizing that these secret visits to “Bobbie’s Big Burgers” had become an important part of my life. Betty was different, funny, cute, a good listener and, damn it, a far less arrogant than Wendy.

Fun. That was the key word now, wasn’t it? Wendy? Fun? No, slow. Had Wendy been my choice of partner? No. Had I chosen her? No. As far as I went, she was dull. Wendy was money. To my father, that meant a lot. No. Everything.

That and power.

I parked my expensive car in the only spot that had been left free, across the street from the diner. I sat there in the silence for a bit, hearing the cars whizz by and the occasional dog bark at a pigeon. I gazed up at the phoney photo of me and Wendy hanging from the front mirror. It had been taken at the official engagement party last month and was the biggest and most valid example of phoneyness I knew.

I remembered the buffet, the band, the speeches, the public peck on the lips that Wendy had given me, the press photo with that damn famous client of my dad’s, the rapper DJ Ice. It had all been a show that we put on for my father.  Good food, nice drinks, great music, pretty lies.

Wendy sent me a text message at about eleven o’ clock that night, outlining our upcoming marriage. She had used the words “strictly for the money.” There was a big problem with that phrase: I agreed with her. Our daddies had joined together in order to form an axis of power. The two richest lawyers in California, how good would that look if their kids married. Man, that would just make them totally famous and totally rich.

I unwrinkled my Armani suit in the back, stepped out of my car, wondering how I could improve the situation. The slamming door felt like the ultimatum my father slammed in my face. My way or the highway, he seemed to tell me. No Wendy, no college degree. So, what was this? I was between a rock and a hard place. What did the literature students say? Scylla and Charybdis? My soul told me I loved another chick, that Wendy could go screw herself. But where would that leave my degree? I would be over my frigging head in debt if my father cut the money for law-school. No Wendy, no inheritance. Was I really so dependant on my dad?

The slight salty breeze in my face, my Ray-Bans firmly reflecting the UCLA logo on my white shirt, a wide smile appeared on my lips. Betty crisscrossed the tiles in there, delivering her burgers and fries, serving those milkshakes with a sensual smile. Although I must say that I preferred her own personal milkshakes to those her boss made behind the counter.

I held on to the doorhandle for a bit once I arrived, the metal literally glowing from the heat, watching my sweetie bounce about before I wandered in. When I entered, a short round man greeted me with a smile.

“Mr. Blake,” he crooned in a broad Brooklyn twang, reminding me of how many New Yorkers I knew that had ended up in California. “I thought you were gonna stay out there clutching that doorhandle forever.”

“I like to watch,” I joked and sat down by a table by the window.
“You eat burgers, you don’t watch them, buddy.”

“Burgers are like paintings,” I crooned, contradicting my family’s obsession with hors d’oevres, escargot, dom perignon and Pata Negra varieties. “Their mere appearance triggers a desire to awaken the internal tastebuds. Hence, they are art.”

“We have a connoisseur on her hands,” he sang. “Betty, would you do him the honors?”

“Yes, Mr. Kaplan,” the lust of my life smooched in a melodious tune.

Her two glorious black pigtails swung up and down as she came striding up toward me.  Finally arriving at my table, her back to Mr. Kaplan, she carefully unbuttoned one button on her blouse and let me gaze into that gorgeously huge cleavage. She gave me a half-smile, licking her red lips.

“The usual?” she crooned, winking at me.

“The usual,” I answered with a smile, waving my eyebrows.

“With or without cream?” she said, giggling.

“Lots of cream,” I swooned. “The more, the better.”

She smiled, closing her button and turning around back toward the kitchen with a seductive swing of her frilly skirt. For one moment I got a glimpse of her upper leg. She wore a négligé for me. The red one I’d had the honor of lifting up to hip level last week for the quickie in the back room. It was a wonder Mr. Kaplan hadn’t noticed the cum dripping down her legs as she walked out into the diner. I don’t know how we did it without being noticed.

We literally reeked of sex.

So there I sat, trying to inspect the best fuck of my life as discreetly as possible without having any of the other guests or Mr. Kaplan notice me. There was this old woman in the corner who eyed me, but, heck, I was a lawyer, we kick ass for a living. So I didn’t really bother about what the old woman thought. I just imagined in my head what I would be doing to Betty later that evening, if I succeeded with my plans. I had promised Betty a really royal fuck in my princely waterbed over at my father’s mansion.

“There you go, Sir,” Betty said, handing me a king size chili cheeseburger and a Special Kaplan Chocolate Shake with added Extra Cream, as delicious as Betty’s much smoother white boobies.

After handing me the food, she also handed me a small note, opening her lips and sticking her tongue firmly in her cheek.

“Justin. Eat fast, baby,” it read. “I need you. See you by your car.”

The food melted in my mouth as lusciously as Betty’s lips melted into my rod when we had sex. The cream on my shake also tasted almost as good as Betty’s vulva. I thought I knew what Betty meant when she told me that she needed me. Well, I did know. So I ate fast, gulping down that shake while my love stood by the bar, giving me hot cum-ons.

“Was the food okay?” Betty asked me once had devoured it all, belching like a Renaissance king.

“Wonderful,” I nodded, laying a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Keep the change.”

“I’ll keep it and change,” she said, “but I bet you have something else for me, Mister!”

“Like what?” I said, sparks flying.

“Real cream?”

“Home made stuff,” I answered, blowing her a kiss, waving goodbye to Mr. Kaplan and entering the brilliant sunshine, hoping to find myself fondling my loved one’s jugs soon enough. Kaplan waved, Betty winked, the old lady in the corner sneered and me? I went to my Lamborghini, closed the door, rubbing my crotch.

I couldn’t really see the diner from here. Okay, it was across the street, but a tree was in the way. Pretty secluded spot. Maybe that was good. I don’t know.

Well, I kept listening to the silence, sort of depressed about my situation.

The moment my dear one appeared from the other side of the street, now wearing a frilly pink blouse and a private white skirt with that pretty red négligé under it, I forgot how deep in shit I really was. She opened the car door and literally sunk into the passenger seat, rolling over me and giving me a tongue kiss that had my socks flying off and my breath whistling like frigging teapot.

“Honey,” she told me in her comely, ambivalent voice. “Is it okay if I just give you a blowjob now and we can fuck later tonight at your house?”

I nodded, my voice trembling.

“Sure, babe. Whatever you say! You have an appointment?”

Betty unzipped my pants and fingered out a cock that immediately began growing in her hands.

“My jackass sister needs help with her taxes, but I will be with you at nine o’clock.”

Betty took my schlong in her mouth and gave it the suck of its century.

“Great,” I groaned.

“Your parents are leaving the house tonight, right?” she mumbled with the thing half in her mouth.

I nodded, faster this time, yelping and making a tortured face. “They’ll be at Wendy’s parents’ house out of town. They’re staying over night.”

“Where’s Wendy?”

“At a seminar,” I responded. “Or so she says.”

Betty unbuttoned her blouse and displayed her glorious cleavage, heaving her massive boobs out of her négligé and bra.

“Just for the effect.”

She leaned over, sucking on my cock a couple of times, making me groan and moan and throw my head toward the roof of the car. Then she took my erect dick out of her mouth again and continued talking while jerking me off.

“What’s with this Wendy girl? Do you love her?”

“No, I love you, Betty,” I said, doing my best not to squirt – yet – trying to answer the question as well as I could. Betty leaned over again and continued her blowjob, really getting into it now, her head bobbing to and fro like a rose in a storm, while I uttered the words I had wanted to utter in Betty’s presence for a long time. “The relationship with Wendy is strictly for the money, Betty. She knows it. I know it. We both fuck on the side. The only reason why we’re together is because our parents are business partners.”

Betty stopped sucking, giving me the original blowjob-point-of-view-gaze, licking my balls. “You’ve hinted that,” she said, taking one of my testicles between her teeth and lightly nibbling on it, smiling. “Let me guess, your father will not pay for your college degree if you don’t marry this bimbo.”

“Bingo,” I nodded, almost barking now with lust.

She took my cock in her hands, making racing car noises and pretending my penis was a joystick. When the helmet of my pole firmly lay between her grinning teeth, she laughed, spitting out a witty: “My Lamborghini Gearshift!”

After a moment’s break, she added a contientious: “Sorry!”

Again, she sucked, harder and deeper this time, with me now producing noises that sounded sort of like my Lamborghini on the highway.

“God, you are the best damn cocksucker in the world,” I said, my voice sounding like a wheezing weasel.

“Better than Wendy?” she spat, sucking away.

“Wendy and I don’t sleep together.”

“If you and I marry each other,” she crooned, my hot dog half into the sexy bun of her cheek with lips that had the color of ketchup, “I could give you blowjobs 24/7.”

She giggled, her now cherry-nippled marshmallow knockers wobbling with excitement, her eyes wide with for frolicking mirth.

“I could even suck you while sitting under your desk at work,” she blubbered, handjobbing me. “I could be your homebound call girl.”

“Convince my father of our relationship first,” I sighed, grabbing the leather seats of my car and biting my lower lip. “He’s very conservative.”

“Does your father like blowjobs?” Betty mused, again giving me fucking fabulous fellatio. “Justin, this is your decison. You fuck who you wanna fuck.”

With that, my sex princess gave her work complete attention, embracing my entire length, caressing it with every inch of her lips, up, down, jugs wobbling, hair shaking, pink earrings swinging. While she sucked it, she massaged my balls, managing to circle my shaft with her tongue during her expertise sucking work. I felt my testicles pull together, my rod tighten, my heartbeat accelerate, my breath tremble, the wet, warm feeling in my crotch turning the experience into a divine miracle, the plopping, smacking sounds of her mouth bringing a smile to my face, the smell of her floral perfume tickling the edge of my shaft, the sight of her knockers turning my manhood into a steel lamppost.

The explosion was just a second away now, Betty’s head bobbing faster and faster by the millisecond. Betty deep-throated my dick, not prepared to take it out for the orgasm, wanting to swallow every drop. I came, shooting my load into the back of her mouth with a groan, cumming again and again.

Betty swallowed, not letting any of that free portion of protein get lost. After all, since I had begun cumming in her mouth people had given her compliments about her increasingly gorgeous skin color. I had, on her request, shot about twenty loads into her mouth the last month. As the storm subsided, Betty pulled away, panting, drying her lips, eyes closed, leaning against her seat, sighing a happy sigh of sexual relief.

“Man, you’re good.”

“You, too.”

My dick shrinking, her boobs slowly heaving back into her bra, we closed our garments and drove off to join the crazy traffic of Los Angeles. Before I dropped her off at her house, she half-smiled at me, giving me a tongue-kiss, one cum-drop left on her chin.

“I want you to shag all my holes tonight, okay? Are you up for it?”

“My machine’s reloading as we speak, baby,” I answered.

I humbly stole a sneek peak at Betty’s bottom as it swung to and fro into her apartment building, her stomach full of my happy little sperms.

It didn’t take long, though, for the blues to catch me. No sooner was I back on the highway when I again seriously began wondering how to tell my father that Wendy and I were bound to divorce sooner than anyone could scream “fake.” I had to tell him, introduce him to Betty, tell him that she was the love of my life. I wouldn’t tell him about the cumshots, though. I would tell him that it was Betty or the highway.

As I left that highway again, for Beverly Hills, reminded of how excited I’d been to move here, meeting the stars. Hell, going home to the stars. All because the press called my father “America’s Lawyer Number One, Trusted by the Celebrities.”

I cruised the streets, happy that people didn’t wave anymore or stop my car to get my autograph, causing an accident. I was a lawyer, not a pop-star. All because of my dad’s megalomaniac attitude, putting the family name Blake on the map. I now resented this fame, forcing myself to live a lie. Wendy and I, we hated each other.

Driving myself to a frenzy into our lot, parking my Lamborghini in garage number four, it took me about five minutes to calm down. I had just received the blowjob of my life, but it only took me driving into Beverly Hills in order to depress me.

I loafed out of the garage into a florally scented day, my gaze meeting my parents bouncing down the stairs. My father’s wide, bleached toothpaste grin flashed at me, his tanned skin beaming with the fake joy called greed. Mom? She cleared her throat, waited for his greed to subside.

“Justin,” my father said, slapping my arm, his casually priceless short sleeved shirt thrown over a muscular tennis-corpus. “What’re you going to be up to today in this lonely house?”

I smiled. “Hi, dad. Thesis work, law study,” I lied.

“That’s my boy,” he cackled, the dollar-signs magnetically reflecting in the Ray-Bans stuck above his grey hair-do.

I looked at my parents, putting one arm around each of them. “See you tomorrow, right? You’re staying over night with the Wilkins family? Wendy’s not there?”

“No. She’s not. Regina,” my father husked. “Better get going.”

He embraced me, greed beaming into my soul.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he laughed, stepping into his Rolls-Royce.

My mom eyed heavenward. “He’s getting worse by the day.”

I put my hand around my mother’s waist, realizing that if anyone could change anything, Regina Blake could. “It’s very difficult.”

“Justin?”

“Yes, mother?”

“You love Wendy?”

One look was all it took for my mom to understand. I said nothing, smiled painfully, the edges of my mouth twitching.

“Regina,” my father spat. “We got to go.”

“I will see that this situation changes for the better,” my mother said.

As my parents drove off, my heart soared into new heights. My father was in seventh heaven, sure. My mother? She understood where the cookie crumbled. She knew. She’d been through it all. The highs, lows, middles, love affairs, crisis, the love, the hatred. For the better. What did that mean? Not having to marry Wendy? That would be fabulous.

So, I remained outside for a while, watching Antonio Banderas car drive by after George Clooney’s. I strolled through the rose garden, admired the Japanese fountain and sat for a bit by the replica of Michelangelo’s David. To be honest, I lost the track of time. I walked in through the lobby with the red carpet of marble tiles. I played a tune on our white Bösendorfer grand piano. I went to our champagne fridge and opened a bottle of Boulanger Vielles Vignes 2004 for $ 1090, walked through the painting gallery, admiring original Rubens works and Dali replicas, realizing why I had chosen a burger broad instead of a rich bitch. I was getting tired of this arrogant, snobbish attitude.

At first, “Bobbie’s Big Burgers” had been a last minute decision during a stressy day. I found so much friendliness in Betty’s response, so much fun and good conversation that I realized that this woman could make me happy for the rest of my fucking life.

I spent about two hours dawdling in our huge house, praying to God, waiting for an answer how to solve this damn problem.

Suddenly, the waitress named Elizabeth Browning rang my expensive Big Ben-bell, her smile wide, her cleavage clearly visible, all her lips wet, nipples hard, perfume sexy, her tongue longing for dick, ass wobbling, hair tousled, car parked far away. Me? I loved the fact that she was here: honest, fair, lovely, horny, fuckable, friendly.

I took her up the marble staircase, her eyes wide, voice giggling, breath shaky, mouth open. When I took her into my bed chamber, kissed her neck, gently unbuttoning her dress and letting that cute thing drop to the floor. She stood there in a red négligé, massaging her boobs, displaying two of the most gloriously beautiful breasts known to mankind.

I did her a favor and stripped off every single piece of clothing I had on before unclasping her bra. Before we knew it, we were as stark naked as the animals. Adam and Eve, as unashamed of the fact that we were animals. Sex, the ultimate creational experience, a means to connect, had been created by God to express love and bring lovers together. We were naked, two beautiful people who honestly loved each other. The Beverly Hills Rebel and his waitress, the big boobed and beautiful cocksucker named Betty Browning.

So, I did the only thing I could do, stripped off my expensive clothes: I lay Betty down on my waterbed, spread her legs, licking her deliciously sweet, salty pussy, her juices overflowing me with physical love. My tongue entered her deeper and deeper, her hands caressing my head. She sucked my cock, I fucked her from the front, against the wall, from the side, we licked each other in a sixty-niner, only to explode into a glorious doggie-position, me fucking her wobbling ass, Betty on all fours.

My father’s voice in the lobby of our mansion first scared me, Betty wanting to grab her clothes and cover herself. My cock already deeply stuck into Betty’s asshole, it gave me one helluva chance to prove to myself what I believed in. I just kept fucking her.

“Justin,” Betty growled. “Your father.”

I kept my dick inserted inside my loved one.

“My mom’s on my side. We can solve this. Trust me.”

“But we are fucking in your father’s house!”

“Sex is not a sin,” I spat. “Keep shagging!”

As I kept making love to Betty, we overheard the conversation that took place right in front of my mansion bedroom door.

“I can’t believe Wendy was openly unfaithful to Justin in her parents’ house,” my father groaned. “I never want to see that family again.”

“Larry? Will you now let Justin choose who he wants to marry … himself?” my mother sing-songed in her usually liberal tone of voice.

Our door opened wide. It seemed that I had to hold on to Betty’s butt extra well and especially hard whilst shoving my cock inside her this time. My father shrieked. I had never heard him shriek before. I was adamant. I groaned, fucked, shagging Betty like crazy.

My mother? She laughed. I don’t know why, but she laughed like a crazy woman.

“Who is this?” my father screamed.

“I am fucking the woman I love, father,” I answered back whilst seducing Betty. “Meet your future daughter-in-law: Elizabeth Browning.”

Stark naked and while being fucked to smithereens, Betty raised one hand and waved at her future father-in-law.

“Hi, Mr. Blake,” she chirped. “Your son has a great cock.”

“I’m disowning you,” my father screamed.

“Oh, shut up, Larry,” my mother said. “We fuck all the time. You love blow-jobs just as much as she does.”

I think my mother had some convincing to do before she could lower my father’s pants. I have no idea how it happened, but soon enough my father and mother were naked, as well. I had never seen it before and it was quite daunting, but I squirted on Betty’s face at the same time my father squirted on my mother’s face.

I later found out that Wendy deliberately had jumped into bed with her part-time-lover while my parents were in the house. My mother had simply aided the situation.

I got my college degree, my inheritance, married my Betty.

We now have four lovely children.

Oh, yes. Betty, now years later, still gives me fantastic blowjobs.

She still swallows every drop and claims it is great medicine for her complexion.

From what I hear, Betty and my mom compare dick-stories in secret.

That, though, is a completely different and very fuckable story.

The Twilight Zone of Sensuality By Charles E.J. Moulton

Did it matter… in the long run?

There was no question that it hurt.

Cedrick just wondered if it really had any relevance at all that it hurt … in the long run.

In the long run.

Would it still hurt that he had lost her … in twenty years?

Twenty years without Jenny?

Could he live without her?

Could, yeah.

Wanting to, no way.

He wanted to keep loving her.

No, wrong: he needed to keep loving her.

Looking at these waves crash against the shore and the sunset meeting the horizon, feeling the gentle surface of the beer bottle in his hand, the summer wind against his face, that felt pretty good. Just sitting here felt good, cooling down. There was no woman beside him. No nagging woman, talking, chirping, hoping, dreaming of shopping. Oh, but no loving, kissing and hugging woman, opening wide, telling him to squirt his juice onto her tonsils. No love. In spite of all the nagging, that was what life was about after all. Love.

Holy shit. If it hadn’t been for that gnawing feeling in his gut, he would’ve been happy. The emotion lay there in his bowels, screaming for him to let it out, bashing its bloody symbolic head against the proverbial wall of his soul, yelling:

“I want her back! Damn you, call her, stupid moron and say that you are sorry! You have her number! Just say you’re sorry!”

Why had she… why had she not… why had he… what had she meant… why had she brooded so that evening? Why had he not reacted quicker when she had asked him to go fetch that necklace for her? Had he used the wrong washcloth for the bathroom?

Cedrick sighed, looking across the ocean, hearing those waves gently, ever so gently, crash against the shore, the waves approaching with that weird, steady and solitary security, knowing they would blast against the seaside and die, turning into foam and molecules.

The stone he sat on gave way for a moment, making him realize he sat on something not quite steady, not quite firmly planted in the ground. As Cedrick tumbled off, landing on the sand, quickly standing up and brushing himself off, he witnessed a small and brown animal crawling out of the hole that was under the bolder. It glanced back at Cedrick, its eye-whites glimmering in the oncoming dusk.

A stone that had been positioned between the grass and the beach had been the home for a… hiding groundhog? Yes. Well, not that Cedrick knew so much about groundhogs, but this guy seemed so agile, so quick, so alert. He popped out of the hole, scared, glancing back and forth, and scooting off into the distance, leaving Cedrick quite dumbfounded. Had this little animal actually lift the bolder out of its socket and him, the grown man, off the ground?

Whatever the case might have been, Cedrick stood there with his right hand in his Camel shorts, the wind in his hair, the salty air up his nostrils, looking at the scared animal disappearing beyond the sand dunes.

Just like that animal had toppled him off that stone just now, Jenny had toppled him off the rock of his life. Her words, oh, those mean words: “It’s over, damn it,” came from a row that had escalated out of nothing. Him not cleaning up enough, leaving pizza cartons all over the place, using the wrong sponge for the bath, whatever. And soon enough, Jenny and Cedrick were packing bags and sorting out jewelry and photos.

That damn flat in Walthamstow seemed darned empty comparing to the fine hubbub of their mutual London penthouse.

It could be that Jenny missed him, too, although she seemed to be rushing across the proverbial sand dunes of existence, hoping he would get lost… or something. Whatever. In his heart, he hoped that Jenny wanted him back.

As Cedrick loafed two steps toward the beach, minding his own business, forgetting about the strange and very strong groundhog, a lock of Jenny’s hair, that lock that she had given him during their trip to the French coast, came falling out of his pocket, landing on the sand. One lock in a small plastic folder, created for a ring, he believed. One blonde lock with the words: “I love you!” written on it in pink ink.

She had laughed when she wrote those words, remarking how pink ink actually had a very nice meaning for her. “That book by Dr. Seuss my mom gave me twenty years ago, for my 4th birthday,” she had mused with his gender halfway into her mouth and her pink pen in the other, “it was called One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. There was a funny creature in there was a funny creature there called a yink that liked to drink pink ink.”

“So, what do you like to drink, babe?” Cedrick had responded.

She had given him a wink.

“Cum on, you know that!”

The sting of dying laughter buried into his heart again like a knife, memories of a happy facial fest making him realize the little sign of love on that folder was no more. No more. Just a small lock of Jenny’s pussy hair from a delicious bush meant to be a lovely token of affection. So why was it that he had eloped to France… again… just to escape her?

In fact, they had fucked right here on this spot, on this very beach. They had thought they had been alone. Maybe they had, until they heard a branch crack. It could’ve been the groundhog. The voyeur.

Wait a minute. When had they met? Four years ago? Yeah. It could’ve been the same groundhog, regarding the fact that groundhogs lived from 9 to 14 years.

Cedrick looked over at the tumbled rock, recalling the spot just a few feet away from it. It had been the spot where Jenny had stripped naked four years ago, spreading her legs, letting Cedrick stick his tongue up Jenny’s snatch, making him bury his head deeper and yet deeper inside her pussy, tasting her juices, licking that salty liquid off her clit.

Cedrick shook his head, more tears than arousal inside his soul.

“Why do I revisit every single place that meant something to us? Am I nuts?”

He walked over, clutching that lock, hoping that the temptation of going to that brothel on the west side would wither away. That would be cheap. Right?

“Torture.”

Just a few minutes and the sun would be gone beyond the horizon. The groundhog would be sleeping and Cedrick would be joining the rich bums and the fifty-somethings in the hotel bar, getting drunk on cheap Chardonnay.

“Wonderful torture. I’ll just go back to my hotel room and squirt on Kimberley Clark.”

Cedrick turned around and faced the setting sun with all its dying dark orange and pink tinges, all its longing and mysterious bliss, all that spiritual beauty.

“Come back!”

Damn, how sappy was that.

Cedrick, the seven-inch-cocked stud, sounding like Kate Winslet in Titanic, his tears rushing down across his face. Sappy enough.

His £4,99 Woolworth sandals loafed almost involuntarily over toward the beaten path leading to the hotel, his hand sticking to that lock of Jenny’s clit hair in his Camel shorts again, his brain wondering why the fuck he did that, his soul really wanting to hold on to that pussy lock. No, not only hold on to it. He wanted to take out the picture of her he had brought along, whip out his dick and masturbate to it… as he cried… drunk and alone.

“Hell, Cedrick,” he mumbled to himself, “there are other women. It’s over, boy.”

Yeah, that other voice whispered inside him, that he had to hold on to true love.

True fuck?

That, too.

That was true. Her… what was the French word for it? Joie de vivre, lust for life. Man they had fucked in every imaginable position: anal, oral, riding, doggy-style – ooh, those wobbling buttcheeks – titfucking. They had done it all. She had made him fuck him openly in her car once, in a park behind a bush, even in the airplane rest room on their way to the Maldives once, even in her parents’ house – while the old folks were watching telly.

Heck, she had taken him into the ladies room of their local London pizzeria and given him a blowjob once, facial, cumshot, swallow and all. Imagine the looks on those old ladies faces when Jenny wandered out of the cabin with a huge smile on her face, Cedrick dashing out toward the parking lot, Jenny’s chin sporting a large sperm drop.

Now, years later, after a painful break-up, in a revisited version of the original France where they had fucked first, there were about seven people in the bar. When Cedrick arrived, piano-bar music filled the air, inspiring him to plop down by a window with a seaside view, the moon now rising over the Atlantic, sending reflections across the water, making him feel even worse, getting drunk and dying fast.

“But what do you do when you can’t let someone go? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

Cedrick’s mumbles sounded like groundhogs coughing drunken basenotes, hiding hearts overfilled with woe.

“You wallow in self-pity, crying over fucking spilled milk, hoping to mop up the droplets of tit-milk that can be saved, jerking your schlong off to a mere memory.”

The thin waiter with the blue eyes arrived, taking order upon order. As the evening went on, the waiter brought Cedrick his third Louis Royer Cognac that night and Cedrick secretly took out the plastic folder with the blonde lock of pussy hair, reached inside the bag and touched it. The ruggedly soft texture of her yummy pubic hairs brought back memories of digging deeper and deeper into Jenny’s vagina with his face.

Sure, Cedrick sat there with a boner by the window, but it was a hard-on with a symbolic knife sticking up his ass. It felt like the Chinese water torture.

Why had he followed his rage, let his impatience take the better of him? Why had he said all those things? Would she have stayed with him if he hadn’t been so loud, so obnoxious, so rude, told her that she overreacted all the time? Why had he let out all of his frustration about women being… what had he said… “such prissy bitches, overruling everything men say”? Men and women, different species, really, but Yings to Yangs, a plus to a minus, pieces of a puzzle, able to cope, becoming better people for it.

Cedrick lift his third glass of 32-year-old French Louis Royer cognac to his lips, finally thinking on deciding to call that hooker hotline, a bloody darned escort service. Tonight, he would ask for a nice redhead with big tits that he could hump until the sun came up, so he could fuck himself out of his own misery and get drunk again the next day. Maybe that would do the trick. Maybe then and only then, he could get over not seeing his soulmate again.

If it hadn’t been for the revelation that appeared before him.

As he turned around, his back to his third brandy and a rising lunar disc in the sky, facing the slowly populating bar, he saw a blonde woman. He knew her spirit, her fancy chit-chat and her endless deepthroating, her fantastic scrambled eggs and her witty text messages. In fact, he knew her vagina better than any other part of her body. That pretty and sexy blonde bush he had opened endlessly, sticking his tongue into. The clit he had eaten, tickled with the tip of his male wonder, it had returned, wearing that decent white dress that she had bought in Suffolk three years earlier. The one she had bought for the job interview at the Bank of England. It made her look “decent”, she had told Cedrick before ripping it off and setting herself down onto his erect penis and riding his blood blue.

“Decent, me arse, you’re my lusty whore,” Cedrick had whoppeed while thrusting his fat dick into her body and squirting her full of sperm.

Now, Jenny just stood there, looking like an angel, and, yes, a revelation.

Thoughts criss-crossed his brainstem, catapulting through his nerves into the bottom of his existence. Jenny? Here?

It was hard to express what he felt. His heartbeat accelerated, his eyesight failing him, sweatdrops trickling down his brow down behind his shirt into his buttcrack. Jenny? She just stood there, silent, her handbag in front of her crotch, her knockers swelling.

Cedrick’s heart soared into new heights he had not experienced flying around into since… yes, since meeting Jenny four years ago. He wanted to rush up to her, embrace her, stick his erect penis in her mouth, squirt onto her gums and ask her to marry him.

Cedrick just sat there, looking at her gently order a dry Chardonnay. There was no spite there, just a wounded question in her heart. That evil, wounded pride that he had dwelt in the last few … what had it been? Eons? The fear of never ever meeting someone to share his life with turned into dust. Maybe Cedrick would turn into a married man after all.

Or maybe not.

Who knew?

“Oui, Mademoiselle,” the thin waiter answered, leaving them to… do what? Reacquaint? Yell at each other? Fuck? That would be fabulous, but… was that possible?

Slowly, in that stately manner that so signified her entire elegance, Jenny strode up toward the barstool that stood empty next to Cedrick’s seat, resting her elegant and fuckable tush down upon a brown cushion. Cedrick watched that ass lower itself onto the barstool, not really being able to believe maybe… just maybe… being able to…

“You’re here?” Cedrick croaked.

Jenny lay her white handbag onto the table.

“Your mom told me you’d left for France,” she whispered, her voice as familiar as the moonlight reflecting on stormy waters. Jenny looked up into his eyes. “There was only one possible place I could look.”

Those eyes, reindeer eyes, deep brown lakes of love he could drown in, he would love to drown in and disappear into.

“I’ve been miserable,” Cedrick mumbled.

Jenny nodded, looking down, a sadness in her gaze.

“Are you here to say good bye again?” he added with a questioning gaze. “Or just here with someone else to rub it all in, hoping to excel my misery?”

She shook her head.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wanted to repeat any break-up, baby,” she continued, her gaze now drifting beyond the dark horizon, dreamily hoping to find that love beyond the moon inside the starlit sky of the universe.

Baby. She had called him … baby.

How nice that sounded.

How promising.

How hopeful.

Did he dare to… hope?

“You know, I sat there in my bank office, getting calls from suitors, even fucking some of them. I gave some of them blowjobs, I let them squirt on my face, they took me to the opera, I even let one of them fuck me… in the ass.”

She smiled, bitterly.

Jenny reached into her handbag and took out the cloth napkin with the rose she had bought over in Dublin, drying the two tears that streamed down her wounded face with it.

“The flat just wasn’t the same after you left,” she said, “I broke up with every one of my suitors, mostly after a week or so. I hated myself for being so… crazy. Finally, after getting so drunk I could hardly stand on my feet, I decided to call your mother and ask her where you were. I… had to… come… and see you.”

Jenny looked up into Cedrick’s eyes, that spirit beyond the body swimming inside her soul, his aura mingling with hers. The tension tingled to the point where Jenny didn’t notice the thin waiter with the blue eyes serving her a drink. The couple simply kissed, tongues playing gently with one another, saliva drifting from mouth to mouth, lip upon lip, pussy tingling, cock growing, nipples stiffening, nostrils widening. An eternity passed before their mouths parted, their foreheads meeting, their eyes closing, their hands intertwining and Jenny gently whispering:

“Just promise me one thing, Cedrick.”

“Anything you want, Jenny!”

“Never call me bitch again!”

It was hard to say what prompted the tears. Clear enough was that the tears came and that several people inside the bar turned around to see who was producing these guffaws, these desperate sobs. They guffaws accelerated into such a frenzy that Jenny had to grab Cedrick’s wallet from his shorts and pay for the drinks herself.

Soon enough, two half-empty glasses rested on a lonely table by the window, two lovers reassuring the redhead receptionist that they would pay for the extra person staying here over night, the receptionist reassuring Jenny that room 121 had a double bed.

It didn’t take long for the couple to take off their clothes, slapping themselves down on that double bed in a horny 69, Cedrick’s face inside Jenny’s blonde bush, Jenny mouth embracing Cedrick’s big cock.

Outside, the moon glittered over French waters, the Atlantic wind sending its sweet breath into room 121. Cedrick licked his girlfriend’s titties. As he thrust into her body again and again, he promised himself never ever to risk losing the love of his life again.

He would think before he spoke, just as she promised to reason before she exploded.

The groundhog that had tumbled the rock had come back to set the rock back in place.

As Cedrick squirted his sperm load into Jenny’s body that night, an angel came into his waking dream, telling him that he would become a father.

Cedrick and Jenny fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, driving home to London that next early morning. They got married in a small chapel in Walthamstow no one ever heard of. Now, many years later, they’re retired, Cedrick an ex-sports-instructor, Jenny an ex-banker. But they always tell their daughter Hope, when she comes to visit them, her own daughter Charity playing with her own toys, that she was conceived the day they got back together, back in France, back when the groundhog tumbled the rock.

Cedrick and Jenny now know where they want to buried: next to each other in St. Anselm’s Cemetery in Walthamstow. Cedrick and Jenny still make love, even at their ripe age, ever so wrinkled, even with eyes and ears failing them. They celebrate their eternal souls manifested through sexual lust. And Cedrick still thinks that Jenny is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

Sometimes, when they get really nostalgic, Jenny puts on her white dress and Cedrick puts on his Camel shorts, remembering their own youth.. They still fit into those garments, but not for long. They undress, they mingle, their lips and genders meeting, their heart uniting like they will in heaven. Cedrick squirts, Jenny wails. For they know in their hearts that the lust that created that their daughter is as little a sin as the sun itself.

And so they sit on that porch after sex, one drop of his cum dangling from her chin, glittering in the moonlight. They hold hands, looking at the stars, dreaming of their own youth back in France, back when emotions still were strong and the sun still glittered upon blue waves within what could be called the twilight zone of sensuality.