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.

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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’

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”.

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.

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.

Dirty Harriet Discovers Porn By Dirty Harriet

The first time I watched porn was with Mike, my… well, friend with benefits is probably the most accurate description. He was my ex-bestfriend’s ex-boyfriend. His cock was the first I ever sucked. Mike’s best friend Dave’s was the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I sucked his cock too.

That makes it sound like I’m a bit of a slut, but I never had sex with either of them. More by Dave’s choice than mine, I would have fucked that boy until I couldn’t walk, but the complicated relationship I had with Mike put a stop to that.

I headed round to Mike’s house, where we normally engaged in oral activities, and the boys were both in Mike’s bedroom watching porn when I walked in.

To be honest it wasn’t quite what I’d expected.

I’d interrupted the boys as they wanked and watched porn on Mike’s laptop, and although they slowed what they were doing they never stopped. I waited a couple of minutes while they slowly wanked and watched and looked at me.  And then I shrugged and sat with them and watched as this poor girl was fucked in the mouth, in the pussy, in the arse and then the pussy and mouth, and arse and mouth, and pussy and arse, and basically every filthy combination you could think of.

It made me feel dirty to watch the sex on screen. It was kind of horny, in a strange and unnatural way that I had no control over. But it didn’t put me in the mood, if that makes sense.

The boys seemed to enjoy it, and the two well-muscled and well-endowed men on screen spunked all over the girl’s face after they fucked her raw.

At the time it seemed pretty weird for me to watch people having sex. Sitting between two horny teenagers while they wanked was much sexier to me than whatever was happening on screen. I wanked them both off, Mike’s sperm drenching my hand, and then Dave’s. Oh, Dave, I still think of that cock regularly. It wasn’t that it was attached to a wonderfully attractive black man, or that it was twice the size of Mike’s normal sized penis, it was the hot, fat, thick veins that made it feel alive when I took it in both hands and stroked it until it jerked and spewed his orgasm all over me. That time I asked Dave to look at me just as he was about to cum and when he did I kissed him, our lips met, parted, and his tongue entered me. That was my first time watching porn and, more importantly, it was my first proper kiss. And it was with Dave. All while Mike cleaned himself up in the bathroom.

Sadly I never got another opportunity to kiss Dave like that. I would have loved to have kissed every part of him, but he dumped me a few weeks later. We weren’t even going out and he dumped me, the bastard.

The next time I watched porn was at University. My roommate, Jamie, was a lovely girl, but she was a massive lesbian and a complete perve. I couldn’t even remember the number of times she asked if I wanted her to lick me out, if I’d like to try lesbianism, or if I wanted her skilled fingers to make me cum. Sometimes I wish I’d started my lesbian adventures with Jamie, but it wasn’t to be. A young man by the name of Ben got in the way, love and all that kind of stuff. So, Jamie never got to taste the delights of my pussy and I never got to have her tonguing my vagina.

But Jamie was responsible for my interest in porn. You see, apart from offering me all manner of lesbian action, she used to study, and I really do mean study, all kinds of lesbian porn. And one morning she rushed out of our dorm room, heading to her lecture, grabbing her bag and a bagel on the way and she had left her laptop on, with a full screen of these two beautiful girls kissing.

I rubbed my eyes and it took me a moment to realise it wasn’t her screen-saver and the two girls were touching, caressing each other while they kissed.

I groaned, turned the other way, but I could hear the soft moanings of lust from Jamie’s headphones on the desk. It was like listening to lovemaking in the room next door. Soft, muted, but definitely there.

Ignoring it wasn’t going to work. Already the soft sounds of murmuring, the gentle moans, the heavy breathing, the delicate sexy eastern European accents. It was so much sexier than the brutal, raw fucking of the porn I’d watched with the boys just a few years ago.

So I turned back to look.

They were in a beautiful gazebo, surrounded by pretty flowers.

The brunette was peeling the blonde’s shirt off. They both looked like high-class waitresses, in tight white shirts that were a little too small, and one wore a tight pencil skirt that would be almost impossible to walk in, if she’d been able to walk with her six-inch stiletto heels. The brunette was in a mini-skirt was the gusset of her black lace knickers clearly visible. They were both beautiful.

I vaguely recognised one as Eve Angel, from a poster Jamie had on her wall. I didn’t recognise the blonde.

Eve kissed the voluminous breasts of the blonde, who arched her back in pleasure, her fingers reaching between Eve’s legs and stroking against the delicate fabric barely hiding her modesty.

They kissed again, their soft lips meeting, their tongues poking out of their mouths to gently touch and lick each other.

Then the blonde opened Eve’s shirt, releasing two perfect, natural breasts. No bra. The nipples pointing up into the blonde’s face and she took one in her mouth, gently squeezing the other breast, and Eve’s mouth twisted in pleasure and she gasped.

I couldn’t help myself, I threw off the bed covers and sat at the desk in my pyjamas.

I gingerly put on the headphones and the soft moans and gasps of pleasure were suddenly diving straight into my head. Every soft moan, every groan of ecstasy sending ripples of enjoyment through my body.

My right hand slipped between my legs, beneath the fabric of my loose pyjama bottoms. The flesh hot and soft, my fingers brushing through my soft pubic hairs and continues down.

On screen the blonde is now on her knees, Eve’s tiny skirt hiked up to her hips. Her legs look beautiful in stockings and garter-belts. The gusset of her lace knickers pried aside and the blonde’s tongue flickers at her clitoris.

Eve’s cries of joy and bliss are sending hot peaks of pleasure through my blood, and my fingers dance across the lips of my labia. I can’t control myself, my pleasure is Eve’s pleasure. The blonde’s fingers explore beside her lapping tongue, and I want to feel that too. Eve looks at the camera and as she is looking at me, my finger enters my vagina, my thumb presses against my clitoris, and my left hand also goes inside my pyjama pants.

A finger explores Eve’s pussy onscreen. My left forefinger enters my vagina, my right hand flickers across my clitoris, flicker, brush, flicker, press.

Already I’m breathing heavy, as is Eve on screen. Her friend’s head is buried between her thighs, licking, lapping, fingers exploring, spreading the moist flesh and exposing Eve’s bud.

Eve’s head rolls, she squeezes her left breast with one hand, her right hand pushing the blonde’s head deep between her legs.

Her hips arch, her back arches, she grinds against her friend’s mouth. Eve’s mouth opens gasping.

I’m gasping, two fingers inside me, my right hand skipping across my clit, brushing, rubbing, touching, flickering.

Eve’s panting is getting louder, I know mine is too although I can’t hear it outside of the headphones.

I lick my lips as the blonde takes a momentary break and pushes another finger inside Eve who groans, twisting her leg and lifting it over the blonde’s shoulder. The blonde dives back in, her chin wet with saliva and love juice.

I wish I could taste it.

I push another finger inside me, feeling the stretch and enjoying it. Feeling full, feeling satisfied. I press harder against my clitoris, fingers skipping across it with increasing rapidity.

Then suddenly I’m there, the build up peaking immediately, and lustful pleasure flooding me. My tightening vagina pushes out my wet fingers, my clitoris explodes with ecstasy, sending surging ripples of pleasure through my hips and thighs, down my legs to dissipate and I gasp, pulling off the headphones and dropping them on the desk, realising I’ve cried out in joy and suddenly aware I’m in a dormitory filled with people and thin walls.

On screen Eve cries out in pleasure and I press the pause button, her beautiful face on screen twisted in delight.

I pant a little, decide to ask Jamie if I can borrow her laptop later, kiss the screen and Eve Angel’s beautiful lips, and decide that may be porn isn’t that bad after all.

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.