Bites By Michael Fontana

She sported a brushy black bob above a boyish neck and then there were the ears, spangled with silver circles.  I had a penchant for the taste of silver on my tongue, wearing a silver stud in it, so first came a lick of her lobe, then the slightest nibble, then a full-on bite.  She turned as soon as I did it, moving from her calm position kneeling on the bed with her back turned to me, praying or meditating perhaps, a mantra escaping her lips with soft sibilance, like a beautiful blue and gold serpent hidden in a mound of grass, alerting you to its presence, not to strike fear but to draw your proper wonder.

When she turned to me, her nipples stood erect, buds of tiny breasts.  A thin line of dark hair ran from her navel down into her more abundant pubes.  I kissed her and she kissed back, her arms wrapping around me like a sarong around a body too large for it.  Also naked there, I took the time to remove the silver circles from her ears so that not even an apparition of ornamentation remained on her beyond her own innate beauty.

As she kissed me, she rolled her tongue in my mouth and then took a bite of her own, my lower lip between her teeth.  The skin broke ever so slightly under pressure of it, and a new silver flavor, that of blood, reached the tip of my tongue.  Still I didn’t falter.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes as if resuming her prayer.  I bent my head down and kiss between her breasts.  She breathed deeply and seized my hair, pulling my head further down, past her navel, down into her thighs and there pressed my face against her.

I might have entered a rainforest since everything seemed so lush, so fragrant with ripe fruits.  Meanwhile the sounds cascading out of her were primal, animal, guttural.  This exploration went on for eternal moments, until my face grew soaked, and then the urge to bite again, this time the ripe berry that clung to the top of her opening.  With this she shuddered, bucked against me, initially pulling my head closer, holding it tight there, before pushing it away.

Leaning back, I witnessed her as if for the first time, eyes sealed, mouth open, head tilted back, hands over her breasts as if to protect them from further onslaught.  The hissing resumed.  I caressed her precious ears and nibbled at them once or twice to watch her flinch with pleasure or pain or both, I wasn’t sure, before she pulled me completely onto her and the forest opened itself to further exploration: fingers, fist, my body becoming consumed by hers in increments, until it seemed there was no separation then or ever before or ever after, as if we had become the ouroboros, the snake eating itself alive, bite by bite, into infinity and nothingness all at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breathing Space By Time Barrow

Through the darkness, I could see her rocking slowly, rhythmically in the hand-crafted chair, just off-center atop a small, round rug I imagined she’d woven with skills passed down from her mother’s mother. The chair’s soft creaking reminded me of the aged wooden door she’d opened to me, only hours earlier.

I’d had no agenda and actually hoped to reach the western Ireland hostel before sunset. But when she’d beckoned hesitantly from her front porch and with the sun almost down, I rerouted that plan across the small field. Maybe I wasn’t that attached to my destination, maybe it was that simple beckoning invite that hinted at a need I might assist with, maybe it was because the light behind her detailed her lower figure through her floral dress. Regardless, I easily found myself playing the part of a weary traveler, just looking for a respite from the rain.

We didn’t share a word, not even awkward small talk, before I’d shed the backpack and she began removing my wet clothes. When she shifted her attention to unbuttoning her own top, we started the feverish exchange of intermittently helping each other and removing our own items. The subsequent hours passed, actively.

I watched her in the chair, as Connemara’s nearly-full August moon extend through the wooden blinds, casting symmetrical stripes that rose and fell, ebbed and flowed across her small, nude body, strong and toned in a way daily labor produces. I’d spent my 15th summer on my uncle’s Missouri farm, learning to feed, milk, and shear sheep by day, and to whittle their likeness at night, while watching my aunt prepare full meals after a long day’s work in the field and barn.

She slowed the chair and leaned to light a wide candle on the side table. The match’s flare and resulting glow exposed her beauty in a way I’d not seen before. She was young, far younger than I’d first assumed. Her jaded, albeit kind, face belied an aged existence that had not likely seen twenty-three full years.

The men’s clothes I saw hanging might not be those of her husband, but rather of her father. It mattered little, he was the same character, serving the same role: older, quiet, distant, cruel… a rare cruelty I’d now seen twice in my life, delivered flippantly, even unconsciously, in a way that at best sidesteps—at worst exceeds—physical and verbal abuse, that takes youth and shelves it in a place so secluded that if you’re lucky enough to find it again, it’s so diseased and deteriorated and unfamiliar that you no longer recognize it, remember what it was or what do with it, and don’t want it, anyway. So, you go back to the cruelty that took it away from you, because that’s all that you know.

In the flickering light, atop the side table, lay a buck knife, a hand-whittled sheep, and a framed picture of four people, one of which could have been her.

She rose from the chair. As she walked to the kitchen, a single, glistening drop of perspiration ran down from beneath her hair and disappeared in the small of her back. My own salty liquid reawakened the fresh nail-borne stings on my shoulders. I sat on the edge of the low bed, forearms on my knees, imagining sweat was blood as it ran down onto the already-sodden sheets.

She returned with two mugs of tea, set one by my feet, and ran her still-warm, callused hand across my back, bringing a welcomed sting to my scrapes. Her touch brought an emotion that dominated the discomfort by far, especially being she’d left the bed so quickly after our experience, not staying to cling, an act I’d always rather enjoyed. I remained in a delirium of pained satiation until she felt the impromptu massage complete and returned to the rocker with her own mug.

Taking a small blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapping it around my waist, I picked up the tea and walked over to her, sliding down the wall until I was sitting on my heels. To warm my hands, I held the coarse mug between them in begging bowl fashion and sipped from between my thumbs. She gazed into her own mug. Since she continued to distance herself, perhaps she wanted me to leave.

“How long should I stay?”

She appeared uncomfortable, glancing into my eyes, then looking down, and replied, “He was due back this morning.”

Neither of us spoke until we finished our tea and then found ourselves in an effusive series of discussions on flowers, clouds, rain, sharks, tattoos, and wooden flutes. Eventually, we fell silent. She stood, took my hand, and led me back to the bed.

Before the sun rose, we enjoyed one more lengthy encounter. I imagine both my attention and performance were at least mildly affected by the sound of every passing truck that might telegraph his return. We slept late, and I awoke with her sleeping head upon my chest and with an elation her face had likely not seen in years. The smile was enough to quell both my perceived distance and any feeling of wrongdoing.

I let her sleep, while I made a late breakfast of eggs and ham, which we completed largely in silence, though amidst a sea of smiles and a giggle or two. After, she hand-washed the dishes and hummed songs unknown to me, while I collected my things and stuffed my backpack, including the whittled sheep I hoped wouldn’t be missed,

Just inside the door, I held her, and kissed her long on the neck until she gently pulled away. I knew nothing about her, but I felt something genuine for her. Whether it was her taut body I’d welcome waking up to for the next 40+ years, the rural lifestyle that seemed a bit too inviting, or something deeper, like never knowing if this one is the one, I would miss her… more than I should.

For a moment, I considered inviting her on my directionless Ireland journey, away from a situation I couldn’t know to a path I didn’t know. I quickly shed the idea. I’d done enough. She was no wounded wren that needed any uninitiated care. At least, I didn’t think she’d suggested such in voice or action.

Wandering into what was indecipherably either late morning mist or lightly falling rain, I pulled the carved sheep from my pack’s side pocket, clutched it, and headed North.

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.

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”.

Mr. 2:47 By Charles E.J. Moulton

Radiant. Indescribable. Mysterious. As rich as Spanish Corona wine, as full bodied as apricot brandy, as lucious as moist Irish cream, more mouthwatering than a tropical watermelon, yummier than any other sweet pussy on the planet: salty, sweet and cumming.

When Brandy, for she bore the name of that intoxicating drink, walked into the bar that night, my heart skipped a beat, her curves a violin, her jugs a sunrise over the hillsides of Wales, her butt a spectacularly rich and dark-red rose. More than anything else, her female forms resembled the soft sanddunes of Morocco.

Her physically perfect “S” enduced in my midst a perfect inverted “T”, a long pole reaching toward her wet and dripping cunt, long, curvey sandré coloured hair reaching way below her shoulders. A black unbuttoned light blouse with red flowers, underneath it a black V-neck T-Shirt that showed off that marvelous body, watermelon-sized knockers, a cleavage-blinking glory​, cum-inviting, ready to receive the distress call of any male energy in the room. The black skirt caressing her fabulously fuckable ass. My antenna wanted to plant itself into the holes of her roof, drilling up through her basement and working itself up to her top.

There she was, blouse and hair blowing in the breeze coming in from the outside of the briefly open door, remaining there for fifteen seconds, searching for someone, someone not yet there. I raised my glass to my lips, somewhat in a daze, the brandy in my glass making love to my tastebuds, Brandy by the door making love to my eyes, inspecting her, imagining what I might want to do to or with her, imagining what was like under her clothes, if she had shaved her furburger or not, if she was tight or not, if her pussy would hug my dick real hard or not while I fucked her and while she squealed like a hungry seal.

Just as I, for a moment, was about to disappear into the glass-dwellings of my second mistress, as lucious as the woman’s namesake by the large glass door with the bar’s initials, a maitre d’ stopped by Brandy’s side with a startled gaze. He’d been striding joyously across the floor in almost gay showbiz manner. When he saw Miss Nubile Nipples, the immediate change in his manner became visible: slow head movements, a transfixed gaze.

She asked him something, he answered in mumbles, Brandy seemed distraught, nodded, was shown to a table and sat down, ordering something rather, whatever it was, looking at her watch.

I knocked back my alcohol, ordered a second drink. My body made the decision for me … actually, I am sure it was my spirit, my intuition or whatever it was taking over my body and shooting up. I knew I had to talk to her.

With drink in hand, my feet strode up to her, a lump growing in pants, my masculinity bleeping proverbially like a radar, the helmet of my penis turning blue. She leafed through what seemed to be a folder of papers, at first pretending not to notice me.

“Miss?”

The deepest and brownest reindeer-eyes I have ever seen gazed up at me, formidable sea of lush promise feeling like a bed of roses, a bathtub of coconut cream, a pool of cocoa butter.

“Yes?”

“You seem quite …”

I half-smiled.

“… gorgeously lost.”

Brandy sat back in her chair, giving me a grin.

“There’s a pick-up line I haven’t heard befoah.”

A chick from Brooklyn? Her accent revealed as much.

“May I?”

I gestured toward the opposite chair.

“Uhm, Mister, uhh …”

I stretched forth my hand.

“Cleo, Paul Cleo,” I nodded. “Marketing Department.”

I could see the wheels turn in her mind, making her wonder what Marketing Department I spoke of.

“We work at the same firm across the street,” I laughed, “big building, 500 employees, nobody knows anyone, we just know the boss but he doesn’t know us. He just pays us. Ring a bell?”

She held on to my hand, twisting and turning it lightly, shaking my hand not up and down but sideways as some blowjob-worthy women tend to do.

”I have the office down the hall,” I added, chuckling.

I could see how the penny was dropping ever so slowly. I had said hello a few times and she had responded, but with hundreds of people working there, what would you expect?

Suddenly, a proverbial lightbulb lit up above her head. ”Mr. 2:47!”

I took a step back, almost spilling my drink. The twang in her voice caressed my enigma, at least for the moment. Had I fucked a Brooklyn crumpet yet? I didn’t think so.

“Mr. … wh-what?”

Brandy giggled, somewhat shyly now.

“The girls in our department call you that.”

This was obviously more humorous than I initially had thought. A dark secret known only to the chicks in accounting, with which I had nothing to do. Well, almost nothing.

“There’s way too little contact between the departments, I see that now,” I said, quite seriously.

“No, no,” she demanded,  “Siddown. I gotta tell you this.”

As I grabbed the chair, feeling a weird mix of eagerness and fear of being ridiculed, Brandy continued. Now I heard that something in her voice that didn’t quite match her Hollywoodesque Monaco-like appearance.

“Christmas, year befoah last, you drank yourself silly. I mean, none o’ us in gals in accountin’ knew ya, but …”

She shrugged and giggled.

“Us Brooklyn-nookies just thought you had a cute ass. We all wondered how … well, uhm … uhm … well, never mind …”

I smiled, feeling my cock rise again in spite of Fran Drescher’s voice coming from a supermodel’s body. I wondered what receiving fellatio from her would be like, Brooklyn fillies reputed to have nubile gums, also when shutting up.

“Ya know, every woman foah herself and awll that. Punch in, check out, lock down. Anyway, you were with all the Marketin’ guys. I’d been gigglin’ with mah colleagues in this huge joint they’d rented, remembah?”

I recalled that party. Huge gathering. That was when I had noticed Brandy for the first time, but only because of one of her friends called out her name real loud.

I nodded. ”I noticed you, too.”

“We were still about 100 people there, very late.”

She threw a glamorous gaze my way, one that spoke of wine, men and song. Oh, yes, and lots of sperm on those lips of hers. Maybe her complexion was so gorgeous because she had been given more than one cum-on.

“The band was playing slow dances. ‘How can I live without you?’ or sumthin’. You were dancing with a chick. Dunno who …”

“Uhm, uhm, Barbara. My ex-…”

“Ah,” Brandy said, pausing, looking at me with that inspecting gaze men take or mistake as interest, whatever the case may be. “Anywho,  out of nothing, you started shouting: ‘Damn, it’s 2:47 in the morning,’ and ya left. Your … uhm … ex?”

I nodded.

“She started laughin’ real crazy-like. Dunno why?”

“She …”

I gazed downwards.

“… always said I gave her too little attention. That everybody else seemed to be important but her.”

I looked up, grinning.

“That wasn’t true, though …”

Brandy shrugged, flashing her grin. “Anyway, after that night, to us, you became ‘Mr. 2:47′.” She popped a pink bubble. Smelled like strawberry. Probably just as pink as her furburger. “She caused quite a ruccus after you left, calling you names and smoochin’ with othah guys.”

I half-smiled, really aroused by the idea of squirting on a tongue so full of diphthongs.

”She broke up with me,” I croaked. “I guess I needed some excuse to leave. I was pissed like never before.”

“Angry or drunk … or both?”

I cleared my throat. “Drunk enuff to remember your name.”

“My name?!”

There came that look I knew so well. Too well, in fact. The look that said: ‘Am I in the hands of a psycho?’ Maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with getting laid with a gal sucking on my testicles in long vowels. I held up my hands in a gesture of forfeit.

“No worries. I remember it only because I just had ordered a brandy at the bar and one of your girlfriends called out your name.”

Another pause.

A faint smile. ”That’s cute.”

Fran Drescher Two blew a popping bubble again. If this wonder-woman could only be quiet I’d consider burying my head inside her salty snatch.

An awkward pause followed. Two people looking right and left, trying to avoid the obvious. I looked back at her, clearing my throat, sort of wondering what caressing her boobs with my blue helmet would be like.

“You waiting for someone?”

Brandy looked around again​, trying to detect someone she had missed. ”I volunteered to help with someone’s taxes, but it looks like that someone split the whistle.”

“I hope not my whistle,” I mumbled.

“Figure of speech,” she whispered, waving her eyebrows.

I have no idea how the next thing happened or why. I just knew that I sat there realizing how different your image of reality could be of the actual reality.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice came from behind me.

I recognized the voice from all the slow dances, from a last scene at a Christmas party and from weird feelings of neglect on both sides. I know I didn’t mind hearing that voice because I had spent the past two years dreaming of it, dreaming of sweet blowjobs, chasing dreams and wanking my cock under the moonlight. I still had my manners, though, so I ended up popping up, aware of the identity of the other woman behind me.

Barbara, my ultimate dream … ex-fuck.

I think she was as startled as me, actually. She blinked, for a moment caught in a twilight zone between the current reality and the world that was. I looked at her. The edges of her sexy mouth twitched twice, an insecurity with the origin of a new life and a question of being confronted with an old one.

If I was totally honest, I think we both travelled back in time while gazing into each other’s eyes. This made me uneasily horny.

”Hi,” I said, softly.

Barbara smiled.

“Hello there,” she answered.

I pointed at Brandy, who flashed me a very quick and rather dishonest smile which disappeared as fast as it appeared. Raising my eyebrows in surprise, I shrugged at my ex- and wondered: “You getting help with your taxes?” I asked.

Barbara nodded, her C-Cups wobbling lightly inside her bra.

”Yeah,” she chuckled softly, “you know me and numbers. That hasn’t changed.”

Fascinating, how fast a situation could change and turn 180 degrees.
Inside, a very warm and cozy sensation spread from my diaphragm on to my belly and my face. No doubt in my mind what it was. Hungry for pussies.

With a very sensitive smile, I stretched forth my hand and shook Barbara’s hand. I nodded toward Brandy, who waved back with arousal. The hand I lay on Barbara’s upper arm was met by her own on top of mine.

”Nice to see you,” I blurted out.

She half-smiled, first in shock, the sides of her mouth twitching.

“Want to meet and catch up … sometime?”

She nodded.

“Why not?” she squeaked, letting her gaze travel down toward my groin.

This a time trip was one so surprising that I knew I had to fuck her now or split.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she continued.

“Really?” I answered.

She looked down again, bewildered.

“Really?”

When she looked up again, she smiled, a red blush spreading across her cheeks, a blush as red and the spanked buttcheeks I had slapped rosy while fucking her asshole two years back. Sweet memories, oh, sweet and overworked penis. Yes, she had adored mine.

Holy shit, I fathomed in my brain. Here I was, Mr. Horny, wanting to hump Miss Brooklyn Pussy, and my ex-filly turns up. Was I happy? I was blissful, memories came flooding back and I found myself dreaming of having my cock embraced again so fantastically by Barbara’s hot and lickable clit.

“You still have my number?”

“If it hasn’t changed?” Barbara asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ll leave you girls alone.”

The girls both watched me leave, open-mouthed with heaving jugs.

I walked away toward the bar, knocking back my brandy in one gulp, actually contemplating giving up the drink for something more healthy … like tea. I felt bad about leaving, but Brooklyn Pussy there had triggered an erection in me. Now Barbara came along and gave me a trip down mammary lane. I just had to grab some air before my head exploded.

“See ya tomorrow, Mr. Cleo?”

I looked up from the wallet in my hand, giving Scott, the bartender, a nod.

“If I don’t win a million bucks by then and quit my job,” I swooned.

I put two five dollar bills on the counter. “Keep the change.”

“You’re a good customer, Mr. Cleo,” Scott said. “Hope you find your true happiness one day.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“What makes you think I am not happy?”

I paused.

Scott waited.

He cocked his head.

”It’s not my place to mingle into other people’s affairs, Mr. Cleo.”

“It’s okay, Scott.”

“I guess the gals are busy.”

“Must be the brandy that has me blushing,” I answered.

“Brandy,” Scott mused, serving another customer a drink, “or your brandy?”

I looked over at the two fuckable ladies, leaning over folded papers and restaurant bills. The lonely bar behind me seemed to have my pawprints all over the woodwork and Scott’s ears had turned white from listening to my glum lilt of quickies and quick cumshots.

“Both,” I mused, feeling my dick throb.

I walked out into the evening sunshine that day, looking at the huge building I worked in. It made me wonder how everyone in there seemed to know only the people inside their own department. I crossed the street, on my way to my flat, only a short walk across the plaza. To my left, the gigantic building I worked in. To my right, five minutes away, my flat. My life within a few yards and Scott serving drinks to boot.

Barbara.

And Brandy.

Brandy.

And Barbara.

I pondered over that for a bit. Barbara had quit working at Lincoln Industries after we broke up. When I left the party that night, the night they obviously named me Mr. 2:47, Brandy remarked that Barbara went berzerk, smooching with lots of guys. She could only have known Barbara through me. Barbara worked in the diner downstairs and had made no effort to contact Brandy during the party. Which probably meant she didn’t know her. What that meant about the two chicks meeting now in a bar I regulary hung out in after work? I had no idea. I just know I left the plaza behind me that night, somewhat confused as to my own feelings: my libido vs. reality, my current reality vs. what I obviously still felt about Barbara.

I went home, grabbed a few beers out of the fridge, watched a few episodes of ‘Game of Thrones’ on my laptop out on the shady balcony. I got bored rather quickly, so I googled up Bangbros and wanked my hard dick, squirting my cum on a printed out picture of Brandy from the website of our company, along with another picture of my ex-shag Barbara. I went to bed, dreaming of strangers and strange friends. My sleep was deep, deeper than a hardcore meditation filled with Linda-Lovelace-clones.

The next morning, in my office, I was in for a surprise.

“Now, what?” I pushed the start button on my Macintosh again, but the darn thing did not and would not start. ”Hell in a hand basket,” I spat and I would have laughed at my own silly curses if I would not have to finish my marketing plan for the next year.

“George?!”

I knew plenty about computers, but how to fix a broken one? No idea. You could’ve asked me how to climb Mount Everest or solve a nuclear physics problem. That would’ve been easier. I shot up out of my chair, peeking into my colleague’s office, but I found only an empty desk. At the spur of the moment, as I criss-crossed my office carpet, I tried to think of someone to fix my PC. Running out into the hallway, my thoughts were centered only around getting my damn marketing plan ready for the coming year.

Obviously, I was not prepared to see what I saw. The two girls I had left alone in the bar yesterday were chit-chatting, standing two feet away from the soda machines. They were holding no papers, no tax forms, no envelopes. Just two girls, chatting about whatever girls chat about. Men, muscles, blowing long hard dicks, swallowing sperm, getting fucked, riding penis? Maybe not. Shopping new hand-bags was more like it.

I think I waffled to and fro for two seconds, watching my ex-girlfriend chat with a chick I had had the hots for. I did wonder, however, what Barbara’s new interest in Brandy was about. Instead of actually wandering over to them and acting like a schmuck, I decided to stay on my intended course and try to fix my workplace. So down I went, below upon the floor, next to the PC Tower, under the desk, checking cables, pushing buttons, pulling switches and, oh, yes, biting my fist.

“Paul?”

As so often is the case, my gut heard the voice and immediately ventured to look up who intruded my hard labour. What ashame the edge of my desk was in the way.

”Ow, holy shit,” I cursed. “Damn.”

I crept forth, rubbing my knuckle-like and now aching head.

“Oh, dear,” the voice exclaimed, “did I cause this?”

So, then I finally saw Barbara.

I grinned, shaking my head.

“Just male insanity,” I chuckled, looking back at my desk, still rubbing my bloodless wound. “I hate desks. Everyone should just work next to light plastic garden tables.”

Barbara laughed. She actually laughed. I’d forgotten about how she had laughed at my jokes. I really don’t know why. I never found myself very funny until I met Barbara. So I must’ve looked up at her with a kind of humorous bewilderment.

”What brings you here?”

I let go of my head and sighed.

“I’m … uhm … how do I say this? Back,” Barbara mused, causing me to widen my gaze an inch, “working here, I mean.”

“You’re kidding me,” I sing-songed. “Since when?”

Barbara looked down, smiled, looked right and left. Then she gazed back at me.

“Can I sit down?”

I was taken aback by this turn of events, but I do admit it felt like a blessing.

I ran up to the coffee table, showing her the chair, my dick throbbing again.

“Can I offer you a coffee, a tea, water?” I said, nervously pointing at the fridge and water boiler in the corner, wondering a bit why I was nervous. I did get my free weekly ration of Maxwell House and Lipton. Did I just want to fuck Barbara? I know I had cried for the first month after our break-up, but then I had buried my loss in brandy. Not the sexy chick with Fran Drescher’s accent, but the drink. You know, your worries are good swimmers. Anyway, Barbara held up her hands and shook her head.

“I’m okay,” she smiled. “Just had a decaf.”

“You still drink that shit?”

“From time to time.”

I had not forgotten Barbara’s contemplative gaze, her half-closed eyes, her concentration. I interrupted the silence with an offer to assist.

“Can I help you, Barbie?”

She looked up at me, sparkling twinkles in her eyes. Not a word was said, but I knew my old nickname for her brought back memories. Back then, calling her Barbie was met with a mix of mirth and irritation. It was my personal sign of affection. She used to answer that my name would have to be Ken. Now, it triggered something old in her. Something old that had turned new. It triggered something old in me: memories of squirting my cum into her gums.

“Uhm,” she chuckled, “actually, yeah.”

A pause, an ever so short one, before she looked up at me with those deep brown eyes. It was a direct gaze, very heartfelt.

She gave me a short smile. Then she started fidgiting with her hands. “It’s been a long time, it’s weird, I know, especially since I am the one who broke up with you.”

That warm feeling that came over me the day before now returned. Old emotions, hopes, how I had felt about myself back when I had been with her, all that resurfaced like foam rubber on calm waters, like structures revealed by the withdrawing of silk veils, like fishing hooks in Capri lit by the full moon, like sperm in bath water, like cum drooling out of a horny chickie’s mouth.

I saw her insecure gaze, her fluttery eyes, the way she bit on her lip.
Me meeting her at the bar had been a coincidence, or had it?

Barbara laughed, rather shyly, standing up.

“I’m being silly, I should go.”

I shook my head, laying my hand on her wrist.

“No, stay,” I answered, feeling like having my dick sucked.

She grinned, insecurely, sitting down again. “I  actually miss you.”

My heartbeat fluttered and I noticed how the warmth of her persona poured over me. I had even stopped believing that I could be with her again. Now that I knew I could, things started happening.

“I’ve … I’ve had a thousand one-night-stands since I broke up with you, fucking every guy I could find,” she began. “But the fact is that I was only trying to find someone with …”

She giggled, very shyly.

I stretched out my hand and lift her chin.

“Someone with … what?” I whispered.

There was that feeling again. Our gazes met, our heads, our lips. We almost fell off our chairs in the process. The warm rush of a kiss with lots of saliva and tongues. She reached for my groin and started rubbing my hard cock. Her hands, oh, those sexy red fingernails, they reached for my zipper as we smooched.

“A bigger and more lucious cock than yours,” she moaned. “There ain’t none.”

Her female hands reached past my suit pants and into my Calvin Klein’s, reaching beyond my hairy pubic region down to a stiff schlong. A groaning woman’s kiss, eating my tongue. A button opened, a buckle, and the awareness that I was in my office and that anyone could come in and witness us shagging was … fantastic. Barbara let go of my mouth and went down on her knees, forcing me up on my feet. I did what I always had done when she got that look in her eyes. I stood up, waiting for her to do her thing. Transfixed on my crotch, she spoke again:

“I have been looking all over, baby, for someone with one as good as yours, but …” She gave me the most astounding blowjob-point-of-view-gaze I had ever seen. “I want to feel your cock again, baby.” As my pants dropped to the floor and my big hard sausage bounced out of my underpants, Barbie gasped. “I’ve missed your penis.”

With almost meditative bliss, Barbara opened her mouth and lay my cock on her tongue, first letting it slide to and fro on it inside an open mouth, throbbing deeper and deeper toward her tonsils. Then she closed that mouth, embracing my helmet with her lips, painted in pink. Every sloppy plop of her mouth, every single moan, every raise and fall of eyebrows, every wrinkle of her nose, every deep throat, every button she unbuttoned to reveal a full set of sexy C-Cups, every move enticed me. She loved my cock and I loved the way that babe sucked it. Occasionally, my sex-object of a chickie looked up with enticement and blurped:

“Am I sucking it as well as back then, Master?”

I nodded, happily. “You are still the best cocksucker around, you sex object!”

“Better than the other crumpets you fucked in the meantime?”

“Much better,” I said.

“Then show me how well you can fuck me from behind,” she mused.

Without a single moment’s notice, she stood up, stripping naked, taking off her skirt, her undies, her bra, her stockings and shoes in record time. Suddenly, this bimbo stood there stark naked in my office and I got the jitters that someone would enter and see us. That would mean a probable end to my work here.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Big Cock,” she chirped. “I’ve put the “Don’t disturb! Conference!”-sign on the doorhandle. You can fuck me until I beg for mercy!”

I laughed, for then I remembered all of those fantastic sex-locations of ours. On the lawn behind bush on top of Colorado mountain, I had fucked her asshole. In the back room of a Disneyland museum, I had titfucked her, jizzing on her nipples. In the changing room at the Harrod’s clothes department, I had licked her pussy. In the airplane on our way to China, she had ridden my dick. Now, here in my office, I licked her boobs while she wanked me off. I dived into that cleavage, disappeared into it, grabbing those sweet little man-pleasers, those cockraisers, those little dickteasers. After that, I had no choice but to rip off my own clothes to the last thread, bend her over the fridge and fuck her, pounding my groin against her wobbling arse, her buttflesh bouncing like a “Toys ‘R Us”-ball.

I was in the middle of that glorious frigging-session when my office door opened. I think I shrieked like a schoolgirl with pigtails, but we all know that a man stops thinking when he is fucking. I was afraid of who actually barged in, but I kept on shagging Barbie’s butt, holding on to her hips.

Barbie, or Barbara, she gazed over, women being rather on top of things, as it were, knowing instinctively who was coming in. The door closed before I was even aware who had entered. Maybe my dick had the intuition of a second dream fuck entering my office, because soon I heard a key turning to lock the door. I kept on shagging Barbara’s cunt from behind, slapping her butt almost on automatic, while Brandy, chewing her bubble-gum, came over toward me and leaned against the wall. She nodded, raising her eyebrows, while I kept fucking that sexy ass, pumping my ex- like a machine.

“You’re right, Barbie,” Brandy crooned. “He is good.”

Barbara smiled, her head tossing to and fro as I banged her.

“He is, isn’t he?” she gasped. “Wanna try him?”

I really couldn’t stop fucking that clit. It was rather astounding what Barbara’s ass did to me. Her body had this addictive quality and I kept shagging, no matter what.

“Brandy wants to discover your cock, Paul,” Barbara mused.

So there I was, fucking like a crazy man, and I saw Brandy slowly strip off in the nude while I did. Off with her blouse, off with her bra, and oh, those cockteaser-titties. Off with her belt, off with her skirt, off with her undies, and oh the hairy pussy I was looking forward to lick. Soon enough, another naked female butt graced my office.

“You can switch pussy now, Paul,” Barbara chirped. “Compare us.”

Now that was an invitation I did not bother to neglect. What was even more amazing was the fact that Barbara sat down on my couch, fingering her snatch and masturbating while I slowly slid into Brandy’s body. I got the chance to be a real MCP, a Male Chauvinst Pig, a I believe these two dicklovers wanted it that way.

Here were my notes: Barbara’s cunt was not as tight, maybe some serious gang-banging had fucking opened it up, but it made more sloppy and wet noises while I shagged her. Brandy had a more trained ass, which meant that it did not wobble as much. Both pussies were unshaved and I liked unshaved: so much bush to fuck, so much hair to kiss and lick like diving into cotton candy. This was becoming a marathon.

“We want you to rate us,” Barbara sing-songed while she fingered her clit.

I was still in my frig-modus, unable to stop moving my groin, so I answered in blurts.

“Huh?” I moaned.

“Tell him, Brandy,” Barbara chuckled.

“Well,” Brandy began as I massaged her big boobs while I was fucking her clit, her big round earrings swaying as she got banged. “I knew you hung out at Scott’s Bar. After all, you were Mr. 2:47 and I knew Barbara since she broke up with you. We had shared some guys and eventually, one day after fucking a big black dude, we contemplated getting you back. I knew you wanted me and had secretly taken pictures of me bending over the soda machine. Barbara really missed you. Most of all, she missed your big dick. I was curious about your cock, so I staged this meeting at Scott’s and … you know the rest.”

There was a pause. I kept banging Brandy’s wobbly butt. She gazed over at Barbara, still masturbating her clittie.

“Shocked, you pussy-teaser?” Brandy chirped.

I laughed. “Uh-uh. Happy.”

Then, again with forewarning, Barbara stood up, followed by Brandy’s very decisive withdrawal. I don’t know where it all came from, but suddenly there was this notebook and a pencil and the girls laying up a list with different topics. I stood there with an erect and bouncing cock, looking at one page saying: “Pussy-Taste, Brandy vs. Barbara.”

“Your choice,” Brandy commanded, sitting down on one couch, spreading her legs wide opposite Barbara, also now back on her couch. “Lick us both and give us notes.”

Well, we men all know how decisive and commanding women can be. A man’s gotta do what I man’s gotta do, so wordless I knelt down and began licking Brandy off.

“And tell us what you think while you’re licking, Paul,” Barbara barked.

“Okay,” I answered, getting back to Brandy’s snatch. I opened her pussylips again and inspected it. “Dark-pink pussy with a light mid-core.” I licked. “Salty with a pleasant aftertaste. Easy to penetrate. Yummy aftertaste.”

I looked over at Barbara, who was taking notes. “Tasting of what?”

I licked again, sticking my tongue in deeper into her hole. “Salty pop-corn, I think. Lots of butter. Luciously wet.”

“Okay,” Barbara mused. “More?”

I started licking Brandy’s pubic hair a little, giving it small kisses, licking with my tongue back into her clit. “I like her pussy hair. It’s soft, sort of like silk.”

“How does she groan?” Barbara asked. “Or does she squeal?”

I heard Brandy’s horny squeal and nodded while I licked.

“A cute and horny sound,” I answered. “She squeaks.”

“Pussy rating from 1 to 10?”

I looked up at my ex-girlfriend boobs. “Is this a competition?”

The girls looked at each other and smiled.

“Just answer us with a judgment of points,” Brandy commanded and shoved me back into her hairy cunt.

“A full 10 points,” I answered. “Great taste, great hair, great colour, great lickability.”

Not a second was wasted. Brandy shoved my head away and pointed toward Barbara’s snatch. “Now lick Barbara’s pussy. I’ll take notes.”

This really felt like a university of fucking.

Off I went, running off to Barbara’s couch, Brandy following me to get the notebook and the pencil. I knew what to do. Barbara’s pussy was familiar. I had spent hours and hours licking it, but licking her again brough back fond recollections. Hers was a lighter colour, softer edges, more hair to fondle and a little harder and thicker hair at that. It was deeper and easier to sink into. It tasted sweeter, sort of like chili cheese nuggets. I gave Brandy the notes and Barbara’s cunt received a moist and horny equal 10.

Now the real fun began.

I had to judge the grabability and lickability, how wobbly or tight their tits were, how wobbly their butts were in fucking, the tightness of their assholes, the quality of their erotic dance, their qualities as cocksuckers, how good they were at riding my cock how good they were in swallowing my cum. Needless to say, I gave the two girls 10 points in all categories. They ended up licking off my dick for a full hour.

When my alarm buzzed I nearly jumped out of my bedsheets, tossing and turning a few times after banging fiercely on the clock. I lay my arm over my face and remained in that position for a few seconds until I realized what I had in my groin’s midst: a rock hard cock unwilling to limp down. I looked down onto my raised bedsheets and looked at my saluting One-Eyed-Willie, realizing I had just had my most pornographic dream, inspired by meeting those two ladies the day before. The orgasmic orgy I had just experienced twisted in snake-like patterns in my brain, causing me to gasp.

“Holy Gazongas,” I groaned. “What a dream.”

Upon stepping out of bed, I almost put my feet on the paper I had printed out the night before: pictures of Barbara and Brandy, now sodden with loads of male sperm. I gazed for a bit at my own dried cum and smiled, that cute little UK magazine named Breasty Fillies next to it, a gem with Chesty Summerville being banged senseless by a cool giant-cocked man named Kenny. Brandy and Barbara, Barbara and Brandy … and Mr. 2:47. Sighing myself into my shower, I wondered if something so incredible could come true.

I guess I wanked myself through breakfast, imaging my toast being Barbara’s cunt and my grapefruit Brandy’s left boob. It wasn’t until I reached my office a half hour later that I realized something was amiss – or at least different than usual. My secretary Amy, a buxom blonde I had titfucked now and then, jumped out of her chair, declaring seriously that I had guests in my office: guests who wanted to have a serious chat with me for an hour or so.

I shrugged, sort of taken aback by this strange turn of events. The CEO and his Vice President? Had someone found out I slept around? My hands started shaking and suddenly I feared being fired. Weird, though, because as I walked toward my office door, I thought I heard Amy giggle. I didn’t react to it, though. What I did notice, however, were the giggles and moans coming from the inside of my office.

Once I entered the room, my eyes caught sight of two stark naked ladies, fondling each other’s tits. They looked up, smiling happily. “Brandy here,” Barbara squealed, “has been hearing so much about your big penis, she just had to see for herself to believe it rules.”

At that very moment, my secretary wandered in, hanging the “Don’t disturb! Conference!”-sign on the handle, locking the door behind her. As she strutted over to my desk, giving me the sexiest strip-tease I have ever seen in my life, dropping her garments on the office floor, I realized I was going to have the time of my life. Soon enough, there were three naked women opening my fly and sucking on my balls. And I knew, right then and there, that reality sometimes offers you a better ride than any erotic dream: a fantastic and fucking fabulous foursome with constant switches between nine holes on three frolicking females. When you have three red mouths, three wet cunts and three tight assholes to fuck, you know that a sensual paradise is only a cumshot away. Mr. 2:47 was a lucky man.

And you know what I found out? That Brooklyn chicks do profit from mouthing in diphthongs. We all live together nowadays, the four of us, and I fuck them in rotation, they keep strict track of my track record, but that is an entirely different story. And, oh, yes, the Brooklyn Pussy has won my heart as the best dickpleaser on Earth.

The Wonder of Women By Charles E.J. Moulton

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

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

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

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

Wonder, oh, the wonder of wonderful women.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soul.

I also believe in logic.

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

I also believe in Jesus’ resurrection.

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

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

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

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

Sex is kissing, hugging, loving.

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

Weren’t we taught to love one another?

Violence is sin.

Faithful sex is not.

Think about it.

It’s just simple logic.