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You are going to think that I am ungrateful that I am a MILF, but I am more than a little uncomfortable. My husband coaches our kid’s baseball teams, so you can well imagine that I have to make appearances there. The fact that my husband is the coach is the only thing stopping the other fathers from hitting on me. The hardest thing about the baseball games is when I walk from my lawn chair, past the bleachers to do something. If I have to go to my car, or have to go to the refreshment stand, all eyes are on me. Hungry eyed looks that want nothing more than to devour me. When I sit in my chair, trying to look interested in the game, I can feel the looks of the fathers, either on my crossed legs or other parts of my body. There are other moms there that are very sexy too, but I made the mistake of coming to a game wearing a revealing top. I was at another function and came late to the game. My 38D’S were on full display. My husband usually takes pride in the fact that I get stared at, but when the staring is coming from parents of kids he is coaching, well that crosses some line of decency. I love my 38D’S, but sometimes they cause trouble. My husband has gotten into a few arguments and near fights because of them. I usually wear some type of clothing to cover them up. Sweaters do not work all the time. They can accentuate them beyond normal size.

After having kids, I was sure that my body was going to fail me. I was certain that my ass was going to drop and never be heard from again. I thought my boobs were going to travel to another zip code. I was wrong. My ass is still firm, with very little jiggle to the skin underneath. The shape is well rounded. I live in California, and there are a plenty of Latino men here. They prefer a shapely ass. It is they who stare the most. My boobs slipped a little, mainly from the weight, but they are still firm and make statements all on their own. ‘Shut up!’ I have to tell them.

My husband is a lawyer and can afford to treat me well. I don’t have a need to cheat on my husband. He is a loving, professional man that works hard at all the areas of marriage, work and being a father. I feel as though to complain in any way about him would be equal to cheating on him. He is there for every occasion that a man needs to be called on. He is my man. So, it is not easy for me to admit that I need a moment of meaningless sex with another man. Something, alien to me, opened up inside of me and started asking for sex with someone else. I have been faithful throughout all the years of our marriage, and while I cannot say with exactitude that my husband has never strayed, I know that he would have had a pained look on his face after the deed, and that never showed. He sometimes looks at me with renewed attraction, especially when I lay out in the backyard. I like to lay on a lounge chair, getting some sun. He will motion for me to remove my top, and I do.

Lying out topless has not been a problem. There is a large wall that surrounds our back yard, so no one has any angle to see me when I am out there, except for one house. Most of the houses in the neighborhood are ranch style homes, but there are a few colonials throughout. The one house that offers a view of my sunbathing was owned by an older couple that I don’t think ventured to the attic level to have a seat while I exposed myself, but those people are gone now and have been replaced by a younger family with an eighteen year old son. I was tanning one day, when I noticed movement in the attic, then just saw the outline of a person. I was caught. Part of me did not mind it, but part of me did not want to be pegged as an exhibitionist. I covered up and went inside. I could tell from the front of the house that there were no cars in the driveway. Both parents worked and the son was the only one home. I was sure my days of going topless in the backyard were over.

When I told my good friend Sandra about what happened, her eyes opened wide. I knew she would be intrigued by the thought of being spied on. She is a spiced up Mexican-American who is probably the only one in my circle of friends who I know my husband imagines having sex with. I don’t mind that he stares at her sometimes. He thinks it doesn’t show. Most guys think they can hide their desires, but no matter how cool they are, those secret glances are so telling.

Sandra and I decided to make an afternoon of it. I told my husband and the kids that I was spending the afternoon with Sandra, to catch up on some gossip. They went to a baseball game that afternoon. I had never seen Sandra in a bikini, so was also looking forward to that. She is petite, but very shapely. I was already dressed when she came over. She went into my bedroom to change. I had on a black bikini, and Sandra stepped out of my room wearing a white bikini. Her dark skin is sexy on its own, but the contrast with the white bikini was very sexy. She did not seem so petite now. Her tight top made her 34B’s overflow a bit, and she was actually wearing a thong. She had very nice cheeks. They were not as shapely güvenilir bahis as I imagined them. They kind of flattened out, but were still impressive. We were two MILFS with a plan.

I was going to stretch out, all 5’9″ of me, in the backyard. Sandra was going to use a pair of binoculars to try and see any activity from the neighbor’s attic window. I waited outside, tugging at my top, closing my eyes, waiting for Sandra to report back. She came out once and said nothing was going on. I watched her walk back inside. She was shaking her ass with extra emphasis. Her dark hair was swaying. About half an hour into our adventure, she came out and sat on the lounge chair with me. She was smiling. I could sense she was very horny.

‘There are two kids up there. Looks like he brought a friend.” She said.

“What? Two of them?”

“Yeah.”

“Little fucker.” I said, laughing.

“Two little fuckers, actually.” Sandra said. One is just standing there, and it looks like he might be stroking…”

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yeah. The other one is either taking pictures or recording us. Both his hands are visible.” She laughed.

I reached over and put my sun hat on. I really didn’t want pictures of me to end up on the internet.

“I guess I’m not going topless any more.” I said.

Sandra was pensive. “We can still have some fun. Let me oil you up, act like we are lovers. You can oil me up too.”

“You’re crazy.” I said.

The truth was, I knew this type of situation came very natural to her. She had an exhibitionist streak, but I really did not count on being taped, especially videotaped, which was I was sure they were doing.

Sandra went inside and came out with some tanning lotion. I knew this was going to get interesting, but I was getting a bit modest in front of the camera. She sat next to me again.

“Sandra… Don’t.” I said.

She lathered up her hands and reached for my thighs. The lotion felt cold and uncomfortable at first, then it warmed with my body, I could feel her fingernails, and the softness of her hands. This felt good. Men’s hands can be hard. I liked Sandra more than ever at this moment, but I still did not want my face showing clearly. I pulled down the hat farther over my face.

“You are such a bitch.” I said to her.

“Just relax.” She said.

Her hands found there way to my stomach. I felt a little flabby there, and vulnerable to her touches. Her stomach was very flat and toned. The one area I lost to her with no contest.

‘Take your top off.” She said.

“No way, Sandra.”

“Alicia, come on. That kid needs you.” She laughed.

I was easing up a bit. Sandra had very seductive hands, but I was not taking off my top. I thought of those two kids up there, and wondered if they had taped me topless the previous time. What if they had? I was unnerved a bit.

“You can oil up the back of my thighs.” I said. I wanted that more for me than for the kids.

“Baby! You have a great ass. I sure can.” She said.

I turned over, hiding my face while I took off the sun hat. Sandra wasted no time. Her hands were stronger on this area. I could feel her looking for imperfections. She was quiet. I sensed she was not finding any thing wrong back there. I was very relaxed now, and wondered if any of the voyeurs ejaculated yet. The lotion felt good. I wanted this in privacy, and imagined it moving to something meaningful.

“Turn over. This side is done.” She said, as she spanked my bottom. I wondered if she would be so flirty with me under normal conditions, or if she was mainly playing to the camera.

I lay on my back again and covered my face as best I could with my hat. She was in a playful mood, and I wanted to go inside. I really felt exposed. Sandra pinched my nipples through the bikini top. She was giggling. Part of me wanted to oil her up, but inside the house, not outside. I was going to suggest that we go inside, when my husband drove up with the kids. I got up to put on my robe.

” Don’t forget, you’re wearing a thong.” I said, as I walked to meet my husband and the kids.

That night, I could tell that my husband wanted to talk about Sandra and her thong. He was flipping through the sports page, talking about some trade the Dodgers had made. I was willing to oblige his need to talk about her. I was sure he was going to masturbate to her later.

“We should have her over more often.” I said.

“And her thong.” He joked.

“Were you impressed?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I was expecting it to be a little fuller. Her boobs looked unreal.”

“Really?” I wasn’t so sure I liked that comment, and he sensed that.

“You know what I mean. Maybe they are fake.” He tried to recover.

“Did you decide if you are taking that class or not?” He changed the subject.

I had been feeling a bit bored with things in general, and we had talked about me taking a class. I wanted to take a poetry writing class. I felt that was a subject that I never got the chance to explore. I never went türkçe bahis in for the gushy romance novels. Poetry seemed more serious, more sophisticated. I wanted to learn how to express my emotions through poetry. I was frightened about taking a class at the local University. I felt that it had been so long since I had been in that setting. Being around my kids was hard enough. I envisioned snobby college kids as being even harder to bear, but I felt the timing was perfect: the kids were older now and could be trusted to be home alone. Also, it was either take the class or have an affair with someone. I was going to take the class.

“I think I am going to do it.” I said.

‘Good.” My husband said.

*****

The first day of class was not too overwhelming. I was only taking one subject, and id not have that hurried look that most of the students had. I felt mature, felt in control of what I was doing. Most of the students were young, and gave the impression they were really somewhere else. There were a few older women in the class. They all seemed tired and bit worn down. I felt open to whatever I was going to learn there.

The professor was late, and most people in the room were getting fidgety. One girl continuously popped her bubblegum. I could see that was going to be annoying. Finally, Professor Wilkins walked in. He had that air of having to much information that could suddenly spill over and amaze you. He was a fit man, not too tall. I guess he was about 5’10”. He had sandy colored hair and a full beard of the same color. I tried to spot some gray in the beard, but could not see any. He must have been about 45 or so. Everything about him was stable, except for his eyes. They were a burning shade of blue. Hot eyes, in the sense they seemed to be unnaturally lit. His voice was deep and sure of itself.

He asked us to introduce ourselves and asked us to talk about what we wanted to get out of the class. He called all of us aspiring poets.

When it was my turn to speak, it was as though I was not thinking. The wave of the moment took over.

“My name is Alicia, and I guess I just want to…. Well, it seems like the time is right for me to become a poet.” I said, trying to be funny.

A few people laughed and the professor smiled.

After class, a few people said goodbye to each other, as though were kindred spirits in our pursuit of the written word. It felt good to walk down the hallways, knowing I was there to learn what I wanted to learn, and was not committed to the battle to get good grades. When I got home, my husband was happy for me. I could tell that he was looking me over, to see if I had acquired any new feelings about myself, or about life in general. I lingered by the kitchen sink for a few minutes, with a glass of red wine. I looked up to the window that the neighbor’s kid had been watching Sandra and me from. I wondered if his desires would make for a poem. My husband reminded me it was late, so we headed off for bed. He sat in bed, stoking, as I told him about my class. He wanted me to tell him what it was like being in a room full of college girls. He said I was a woman amongst kids. I helped him with his stroking. He yelped when he came.

I was at the local coffee shop the next day, before class, when a short and square woman came up to me. An awkward young man with a tangle of brown hair accompanied her. She introduced herself as the new neighbor.

“I have been meaning to… Meet some of the neighbors, but have not found the time. My name is Martha. This is my son, Stan.” She said.

“Oh, hello. My name is Alicia. Welcome to the neighborhood.” I said, looking over to her son that nodded at me. His head was lowered and he was zoomed in on my chest. I was wearing a white blouse that blunted any real outline of them, but the size of something large shown through.

“Hello, Stan.” I said playfully.

“Hi,’ was all that he said.

We made plans to get together one afternoon for a session of neighborhood gossip.

I walked away with a sexy cadence to my hips. I knew the son as looking at me with the desperate eyes some teenaged boys have. He needed to have sex. That was for sure. Part of me felt sorry for him, and part of me was disgusted by his lack of obvious success with girls.

I was sitting in the school cafeteria by myself, looking over some notes for class. I wore jeans my first day of class, but now decided that I wanted to dress more mature. I did not need to show off my ass in jeans. There were plenty of hot asses to go around. I was a woman. I was wearing dark slacks and a white dress shirt with oversized cuffs. I had on a pair of brown ¾ boots. I felt so relaxed sitting there. A student walking by me gave me a look of recognition. She stopped in front of my table.

“Alicia? ” She said. “I am in the same poetry class with you. My name is Rachel.”

“Oh, hello.” I said. It was the bubble gum popper.

She was cute. Thin with her dark brown hair bundled up. She wore mini-framed glasses and was wearing a tie-died güvenilir bahis siteleri shirt and jean shorts. He legs were nicely tanned. She had matching nail polish on: pink. She sat down and told me that she was a Psychology major who was taking this class for a chance to have an affair with the professor. I was surprised but did not show it. She told me that every semester he chooses one girl to be some sort of assistant and he always ends up sleeping with her. He was famous for that. She wanted to be that girl, but for the first time he was hanging on to the girl from the last semester: a very pretty, star basketball player.

“I think it must be exciting to be with a star player… Probably sees her as some trophy. She’s all over the place, when it comes to news about the team.” Rachel said.

I tried to imagine professor Wilkins, without one of his wool suits, reciting poetry to a young woman while in bed. It seemed enticing to me.

“He… I am sure knows exactly what to say to girls.” I said.

“I know.” Rachel nodded and walked away.

Had she wanted an easy A, or did she just want to be his next girl.

The professor was talking about the need to express one’s ideas, emotions, and the essence of oneself. We had turned in a poem the previous class, and I was excited about getting it back with his feedback. Near the end of class he started to recite from a few of the submissions. He did not seem too enthusiastic, until he got to one he said moved him. We did not know whom the poems belonged too. He was keeping it anonymous, but all of a sudden the words he was speaking were my words. I tried hiding any recognition. I was ready to be embarrassed.

“And this part is particularly evocative.” He said. “Please listen, ‘Sacred Slave that I have become. When did this matrimony become so knotted? I stepped into bliss on the way in, and now, time elapsed, I am in too deep.’ That is very poignant writing. Can you feel this person’s pain?”

An older woman raised her arm. I was expecting something that would make me feel foolish, but the woman said something reassuring. “I feel it ever day.”

I was relieved by her words. I was expecting some mean comment, but I wanted to remain private about the whole thing.

The class was done for the day, and I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. There were 3 or 4 married women there, so it was not hard to narrow down who the author was. Professor Wilkins grabbed me by the arm as I was leaving. He was stronger than he appeared. I was closer to him now than ever. His voiced deep and practiced. His eyes were a shade of blue I had only seen a few times. They were too blue.

“May I talk to you, Alicia?” He asked.

“Sure.” I said.

“Great piece. You have so much experience to draw from. This class must be easy for you.”

“Not at all.” I said. “That is very kind of you to say, though.”

The rest of the class was gone. It felt as though I was not even in the school anymore, but someplace else, meeting him for the first time. He had an air of superiority, but I also sensed uncertainty in the way he spoke to me.

“Perhaps we could get together one night soon and discuss, or not discuss class. It is very refreshing having someone such as yourself as a student.”

“Thank you.” I said. I felt as though his request was not unusual, and felt his intentions were mostly sincere, but that door, that swinging door to something else is always present. I thought of my husband, and of the reason I took the class: to avoid just the sort of thing he probably had on his mind. I relented.

“Sure.” I said. “We can get together for drinks or dinner.”

“And to prove to you, I am only interested in an exchange of ideas, I will bring a friend. I respect that you are a married woman.” He said. His blue eyes were softer now.

That actually felt reassuring. I was going to ask him if she didn’t happen to be the star basketball player I had heard about.

That night, I watched my husband, as he practiced with the kids in the backyard, and felt, and felt closer to him, now that I was moving to something different. How could that be? I felt closer to him, even though I was going to meet with another man. The professor, his mistress, and myself, were going to meet at a restaurant near campus. I already knew what skirt, and what blouse I would wear. I even picked out the stockings and shoes. I was moving forward and there was nothing to stop dinner with Wilkins. Sandra, as usual, condoned it. She didn’t believe I was serious, but she encouraged me. I knew her support would be easy to get.

We met for dinner on campus. It was a pretentious steak house with rude waiters and waitresses. The professor was there with his friend, Jillian. She was very pretty. She was a few inches taller than me. Her hair was light brown and worn in a ponytail. There were more than a few curls trying to escape. Her body was athletic, although a bit gawky because of her long legs. She had a mole on the right side of her lip. She was wearing a black and white skirt and had on black stockings and black heels. Her blouse was gray. She had a friendly smile for me. It did not seem that she saw me as a threat. She probably knew relationships were brief and things undoubtedly moved on.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Author’s note: Hi everyone, thank you for continuing to read my story! It’s high time for Kai to get that dragon’s tear! As for Sebastian and Milo, things will just get a little heated…

curiousaudrey – yeah, baby, yeah, Kai is getting closer to the BL plot than he could have thought possible… he just doesn’t realize it yet. A lot of things will change for him and inside his heart and mind, too. Beatrice is not essential to the plotline, but I consider it a nice idea for Sebastian to interact with other people while he’s living Kai’s life. Thanks a lot for the comment, as always!

HHYagami – yes, you are so correct… that will be the complicated – or the most complicated – part, Milo falling for Sebastian/Kai. There will be blurred lines and revelations will be made – at the right time – but I can promise that I won’t brush the situation off like it’s not as entangled as you pointed out. I like Milo a lot, too, he’s just such a genuine nice guy 🙂 Thank you for taking the time to comment.

Chapter Nine – Why You Have To Be Mad?

“Look, Pepin,” Kai said as they got closer to the cave that was letting out the now overpowering smell of sulfur, “you don’t have to come with me. Just wait here.”

He dismounted the horse and pulled out his sword. Like everything else so far, he would wing it and be fine. When holding court, everything had gone smoothly, right? Getting a dragon to cry his heart out couldn’t be that much of a problem.

“No,” the servant replied stubbornly. “I didn’t ride with you all this way to abandon you here.”

“That sounded almost like a joke. There,” Kai pointed at the cave’s entrance, “lies a dragon. A fire-spitting angry mofo.”

“Mofo?”

Kai waved impatiently. “That’s a creature that could turn you into way too crispy steak in a second. Like this.” He snapped his fingers to get Pepin’s attention, who was busy tending to the horse. The animal had sensed the smell, too, and he was showing signs of impatience.

Pepin finally turned to face him. “No. You brought me with you.” He crossed his arms. “You always enjoy these things on your own. It’s not fair.”

Kai could see the other’s bottom lip quivering. It had to be so boring to be a servant, albeit a royal one. All the other boys got to play with swords and fight dragons, while Pepin had to do the laundry and cook eggs Benedict or whatever. Yeah, he could sympathize with that. Nonetheless, he had a hunch now that Prince Sebastian wanted to keep Pepin safe, and in the off-chance that they ever switched back – the cold royal must be in his body right now if the rules of body swap logic were obeyed – he would get pretty pissed if anything happened to his precious manservant.

“All right,” he said. “Just take the horse… wait, what’s his name?”

“Thunder,” Pepin replied and grabbed the reins.

“Cool name. Take him somewhere out of the way. I don’t want him to get scared.”

“He should get used to the smell of monsters. He’s not a young colt anymore,” Pepin argued.

“Well, he’ll get plenty of other opportunities to get used to that. Maybe start with something easier, like goblins and such.”

“But you hate going against goblins. You always say that their smell is disgusting and you need to throw your sword away because nothing takes their stench out of the blade.”

“All right, so not goblins. Trolls?” he offered.

Pepin made a sour face.

“Hey, I’m the royal dude here,” Kai said. “Take Thunder somewhere he cannot smell the dragon so much and make sure to secure him well so that we don’t have to return by foot. That if you want to come with me, after all.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Pepin said primly.

It was a bit of fun to pull Pepin’s leg and also great that he was easy to fool. Kai waited until Pepin was at a fair distance from him and hurried toward the mouth of the cave, his sword drawn.

***

The moment he was inside, he started coughing. No wonder dragons were so pissed off all the time. They had to live in a dank, smelly place, and heroes and adventurers wanted to hunt them down all the time.

That was, however, the highest sympathy he could muster for that kind of creature. After all, they were a pain to go against, and they were high-level enemies. That meant that he needed to tread carefully and keep his eyes open.

He walked slowly until he reached the edge of an abyss opening up under his feet. He didn’t need any light because there was plenty of it coming out. First, he thought it was some sort of a giant forge, but looking down, he realized that the orange light came from clusters of fiery crystals. Wow, now that was some epic loot right there, only if he could figure out a way to pull them out. Plus, he didn’t have an inventory, and his trousers didn’t have any pockets.

“What right have you to stir my wrath, human?” a booming voice asked, coming somewhere from behind.

“Shit,” Kai said and turned on his heels. For a few moments, he lost all ability to speak. Before him, a giant dragon stood blocking the way he had come canlı bahis from. His scales were red, and the eyes staring him down were orange like the fire coming from within the crystals below. “Glad I found you,” he said, finally gaining back his voice.

The dragon loomed above him, and Kai expected to become scared shitless any moment now. Well, it looked like Prince Sebastian’s cold blood helped a lot because he couldn’t feel anything like that.

“Look,” he said, raising his arms, “I just need a little something from you.”

The dragon rose high above him, so he had to tilt his head back to keep him in sight.

“You need something from me?” the dragon boomed and lunged, fire coming out his nostrils – or mouth, Kai couldn’t be sure.

He stepped out of the way just in time. “Hey, is this really the way you treat a guest? No wonder nobody ever comes to visit.”

“You’re brandishing your sword at me and yet, you speak of that?” The dragon launched another attack, and Kai deftly avoided it just in time.

Oh, right, he had entered with his sword drawn. Of course, anyone, let alone a dragon, would have thought he had some not so pure intentions while walking in there. He sheathed his sword. “Look, I put it away. Can we talk like normal people now?”

He briefly wondered if Prince Sebastian had any skill in his set regarding high-level speech because this looked like a quest requiring him to be clever enough to convince a dragon to surrender a tear to him.

Like, what was a tear, to begin with? Practically nothing.

“Normal people? I know who you are, Prince Sebastian, and I know why you are here.”

“Oh, are we playing riddles? Try me. I’m telling you; you have no idea why I’m here.”

He could dance around the dragon like that all night, but he was starting to worry about how well those walls could hold while the creature spat fire.

“You are here to destroy my legacy,” the dragon said. “To finish my race.”

“Well, that was yesterday,” Kai said. “Today, it’s a totally different thing. And really, stop spitting fire all the time. Why you have to be mad?”

“Mad? Why am I mad?”

Kai put one finger into his ear and pulled it out quickly. “I think I’m going to be deaf in one ear if you keep shouting like this.”

“I will not go down without a fight. I see that you came on your own. How arrogant of you,” the dragon hissed. “You will meet your end here.”

“Not if I can help it.” Kai hoped he wouldn’t get a cramp from all that hopping around. Things were getting nowhere, and his speech abilities didn’t appear to work on dragons. “Hey, let’s just talk.”

“Talk about what? How you want to destroy my kind?”

“Well, I have nothing against you personally, but you’re a giant bird that terrorizes entire villages, burning them down, destroying crops, and all that.”

“Is that what you think? I only hunt when I’m hungry,” the dragon replied.

Kai wondered briefly how no one had ever thought of using dragons’ fire breathing as a renewable energy source. That would solve a thing or two. “Well, humans shouldn’t be on your menu.”

The dragon roared. “I only ate their goats!”

Goats. Right. Unfortunately, not the wandering herd, Kai thought. “You ate their goats, all right. All of them?”

“I was hungry!”

“Man, you have quite the appetite. Aren’t you afraid of getting too fat to get out of this cave? And I thought dragons ate crystals.”

“Crystals? What kind of nonsense are you spewing, human?”

“Never mind. Now, about my quest -“

“Your quest to finish me off?”

“No, if you just let me talk, you’d know. I’m talking about my real quest, which is to get a tear from you.”

“Ha! You’ll never see me cry! Cut me with your sword, froze me with your magic, drain the last drop of life out of me, and you won’t get a tear from me!”

Kai sighed. “Exactly what I was worried about. This quest is way too high-level for where I am in the story.”

For a moment, he forgot to get out of the dragon’s way and jumped back at the last moment. That had been a bad choice because the next thing he knew, he was falling. He extended one arm in a futile gesture, and vines of ice shot from his hand, wrapping around the crest of a tall crystal and helping him swing through the air like Tarzan. “Yippee,” he shouted. “I’m so friggin’ awesome!”

He wasn’t so awesome at landing because he began rolling down the crystal cave floor, incapable of stopping.

When he did stop, he found himself in front of a giant nest, in which a large egg lay. “Wow, you’re going to have a baby!”

“Stay out!” the dragon ordered and fired another shot at him.

Kai barely managed to roll out of the way. “Hey, stop being like this! Aren’t you afraid that you’re going to hit the egg by mistake?”

“You humans came in here and hurt my egg! And you dare to say that I’m the one to blame for all the bad blood between us!”

Kai had climbed a cluster of crystals and could look at the egg. Indeed, there was a long crack going from the bahis siteleri crown to the middle. “Oh, no,” he said, “is it cracked?”

“Did you come to finish what the others started?”

“No! How many times,” Kai jumped from one cluster of crystals to another, “do I have to tell you? I’m not here for that! I just want your tear! A single little tear!”

“You can have it only you give back to my egg the life you stole!”

Kai stopped and put one hand up. The dragon stopped, as well. They stared at each other. “Wait, do we have a deal?”

The dragon huffed through his nostrils, readying for another attack. “The egg is dying. I won’t believe your lies!”

“Hey, stop spitting fire already! We can work something! It’s just cracked a little… well, a little more, but it can be fixed.”

“How?” the dragon roared while chasing him.

“I know how!” someone shouted from above their heads.

Both Kai and the dragon looked up. Pepin was there.

“Hey, I told you to stay put!” Kai yelled at him.

“No, you fooled me! Get me down there, and I’ll take care of the egg!”

He saw the column of fire shooting from the dragon’s throat one moment too late. Without thinking, he began shooting arrows of ice from his eyes, pinning the dragon’s wings to the wall.

“Pepin! Pepin!” he began shouting. “If you killed my favorite servant, I’m going to turn you into steak, and your egg into dragon omelet!”

The dragon was whining and struggling against the ice arrows keeping him in place.

“I’m here,” Pepin called from above.

“Oh, great.” Kai turned toward the dragon. “Forget what I said about steaks and omelets. We’re going to save your egg.”

“Don’t you dare touch my egg,” the dragon boomed. He started shooting fire again.

That was a problem. Prince Sebastian’s cold blood helped him a great deal, and he wasn’t even slightly hot, but for an average person like Pepin, the heat inside the cave had to feel hellish.

“I need to come down to you,” Pepin shouted.

“Yeah, but it’s not that easy,” Kai shouted back.

First, he needed to put the dragon’s shooting fire abilities out of commission for a bit. He focused on his ice magic. So, he practically thought of something, and…

“A-ha!” he said, full of himself. In mere seconds, a vine of ice was wrapped around the dragon’s muzzle.

The dragon pulled back and smashed his head against the wall. Kai watched in horror as Pepin, who stood on the edge, lost his balance and fell.

He didn’t even think. Blocks of ice rose beneath his feet, and he hopped from one to another until he reached Pepin in midair and caught him in his arms.

“Gotcha!”

Pepin wrapped his arms around Kai’s neck. His eyes were shiny gemstones in the orange light of the cave. “Your Majesty,” he breathed out.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m totally awesome. Now let’s get to the egg and repair it before the dragon manages to drop the entire cave on our heads.”

Pepin just nodded and held tightly as they descended. He had his bag with him and began to take things out of it. In the meantime, the dragon continued to struggle, letting out muffled sounds of anguish.

“So, about the egg, do you really know how to do it?”

“Yes, it wouldn’t be the first hatchling I’m saving,” Pepin confirmed.

He took one small pot and filled it with water; then, he used another to throw in some candlesticks. “I’ll clean the cracked part first with warm water, and then I’ll pour molten wax.”

The ground beneath their feet was cracked in places, and small fires burst through them once in a while. Pepin got to work right away with Kai’s help. He quickly wrapped a wet cloth around the egg while he took care of the wax.

“It’s a good thing that it appears to have been cracked only recently,” Pepin explained. “The chick should be still alive inside. Even with the crack, it probably just slowed down its heart to survive.”

“That’s pretty awesome,” Kai admitted.

“We will need the mother dragon to light a crystal for us to see the chick inside,” Pepin said.

“Mother dragon? Right. I thought it was a ‘he’. But, of course, it’s a mom.”

Pepin poured the molten wax carefully along the crack. “It should be sealed enough to allow the egg to get to maturity. Although we need that crystal -“

“I’m on it,” Kai said.

He used his sword to cut through one of the small crystals nearby, and then he jumped on the steps of ice he had improvised earlier to get to eye level with the mother dragon. Holding the crystal cautiously in one hand, he pushed it toward the creature. Large eyes stared at him. Something of the molten lava in them reminded him of Conrad.

“Look, mother dragon – sorry about that, I didn’t realize you were a lady – you will need to lit up this crystal for us so that we can check on your chick.”

The dragon said nothing and just puffed warm air through her nostrils. That was like a gust of wind, and Kai had to fight hard to keep on both feet.

“Ah, you cannot speak, of course. Here.” bahis şirketleri Kai focused, and the vine around the dragon’s muzzle untangled and fell to the ground.

“You’re trying to hurt my egg!” the dragon roared.

“Ugh, just how many times – ouch, that was close!” The dragon managed to shoot one flame toward him, and it grazed his cheek. “If you could just concentrate a little, that would be fan-frigging-tastic. Look, aim at this crystal.”

It looked like the dragon didn’t care about his reasoning and kept shooting fire randomly. However, it was enough for Kai to move the crystal finally in the way of the flames, and the object in his hand became alive with new power.

“I have it, Pepin!” he yelled victoriously.

He jumped to the ground and hurried toward the servant. Pepin took the crystal from him and touched the shell gently.

“Wow!” Kai expressed his amazement as the interior of the egg lit up, as well, showing a small creature inside. “Wait, how can we tell -“

He sensed the dragon’s wrath and grabbed Pepin just in time.

“Ah, damn, I forgot about tying up mother dragon’s muzzle again!”

Kai was on top of Pepin, hoping to keep him safe until he figured out a way to immobilize those nasty fire-breathing abilities before his servant got hurt.

But the dragon suddenly stopped. “My chick,” she exclaimed. “It moved! It just moved!”

“Did you hear that, Pepin?” Kai shot to his feet and stared in wonder at the illuminated shell. The chick was moving its little feet. “You saved a frigging dragon’s egg!”

“You… you saved my egg,” the dragon said, her voice suddenly filled with emotion.

Kai rubbed the back of his head and laughed. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Pepin touched his elbow. “Your Majesty, fast. Now!”

Kai looked up and noticed immediately what the servant was talking about.

“Pepin, climb on my back. We’re getting out of here with what we came for!”

Pepin obeyed without a word. Kai took the vial out of his shirt’s pocket and climbed up to the dragon’s eyes. A single tear was shimmering in her right one.

“Sorry about this, mother dragon, but we need this.” He placed the vial right under her eye and caught the tear.

Pepin let out a small cough, and only then Kai noticed he was wheezing. He clearly needed out, in the fresh air. He quickly sealed the vial and rushed upwards, jumping from one block of ice to another.

“Why?” the dragon asked behind him. “Why did you help me?”

Kai shouted back, “Because no egg or concubine dies on my watch!”

***

He held Pepin as he coughed and retched. Being outside helped, but he didn’t like to keep Pepin breathing in that sulfurous air for another moment. He took the servant in his arms and rushed as far from the cave’s mouth as possible.

“Where is Thunder?” he asked.

Pepin pointed out with one arm. “I’m fine, Your Majesty. You don’t have to carry me like this.”

“You were just coughing your lungs out. No way I’m letting you walk. And call me Sebastian; we’re alone now. Ah, do you think the mother dragon will be able to get out of those arrows I shot at her?”

“She’ll be fine. It’s extremely hot in there.”

“I’ll take your word for it because we’re not getting back there. Now, let’s head back home, because we have someone to save!”

Kai didn’t let Pepin ride in the back and held him in front. The servant wrapped his arms around him and sighed. “Let’s not talk about Conrad until we get home,” he whispered.

“Silly, who’s talking about him?” Without even realizing what he was doing, he placed a small kiss on the crown of Pepin’s head.

“Ah, ah,” Pepin started as if he was suddenly in pain.

“What?” Kai asked, startled by that reaction.

“You… you kissed me!”

“On your head, it’s not a big deal, geez.” Kai tried to downplay it, but he knew how that looked.

Like a sign of affection. Yes, but it wasn’t, really, a big deal. It was like a bro kiss or something. They had just solved a high-level quest, so a bro kiss was okay.

***

Milo stepped under the shower and threw Sebastian an unsure look. “All right, so this sounded cool and sexy when I first told you about it, but now, I guess it’s pretty cringey.”

Sebastian found it difficult to talk. Watching Milo shed his clothes had been a bit too much for his, apparently, frayed nerves. He pulled dejectedly at his collar, the hotness flushing his skin hard to handle. As someone who had never before been troubled by heat, he was flabbergasted by the shortcomings of the body he was inhabiting.

“Maybe you could get out of that uniform and join me. Then it won’t feel so weird.”

Sebastian debated. On the one hand, he wanted to watch the beautiful young man’s body in full display. On the other, the offer was enticing. He began undressing, dropping the clothes all over the floor.

Milo watched him with hazy eyes. It was maybe an unconscious gesture, but he was biting his bottom lip, and Sebastian felt rightfully distracted by it.

“I’ll still watch,” he said petulantly. “Show me,” he added as he stepped under the shower.

He gasped as Milo turned off the knob. He must have had it wrong because the cold water landing on his head was an unpleasant surprise.

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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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My name is Philip. I’m 18 years old. I live with my parents and my 20 year old sister Rena. Rena and I both attend a local junior college. I’m majoring in computer science. Rena is majoring in dating and partying. I don’t think she is interested in graduating. We commute to and from school by bus. Our schedules match up pretty well so we are often able to ride the bus together.

Anyway, it started on the bus ride home. It was pretty crowded so Rena and I had to stand, nothing unusual given the time of day. I usually zone out on the bus ride home. Rena usually digs out her phone and starts texting. I was standing right behind her. She took me by surprise when she backed up and wiggled her butt against my crotch. My dick leaped to attention.

“What the heck, Rena!” I exclaimed. “Why did you do that?”

“Why did I do what?” my sister responded.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “I’m just standing here texting my friends and minding my own business.” Then she backed up again and rubbed her butt against me. Rena is plenty pretty with a body that tended to be overweight, but sexily so. I think zaftig would be the term used. She takes after our mom that way.

“I’m talking about that…with your butt.”

“Incidental contact,” she asserted still paying attention to her texting.

“Bullshit,” I said.

“It’s called chikan.”

“Chicken?”

“C-H-I-K-A-N. It’s big in Japan. It’s where guys grope the girls on the bus or subway, but it can be anywhere else, too. The women and girls mostly just put up with it because they’re usually too embarrassed to report it. I saw a couple of videos of it online.” I could have pointed out that she was the one groping me, but I’m sure she already knew that. I made a mental note to look up chikan videos when we got home.

“It sounds like it could be dangerous.”

“That’s why I’m just trying it with my little brother. Don’t you like it? You must,” Rena continued. “I can feel your stiff dick prodding my butt.” This time she moved back against me and stayed there. Shit! I did like it.

“That’s not all I’d like to prod,” I said and pushed back a little. I was as subtle as I could be. I didn’t want us to be seen by other passengers.

“You wish,” Rena answered with a giggle.

“If you keep teasing me I may not give you a choice, slut.” Would I be willing to fuck my sister? I had to answer yes to that. Would I be willing to rape her? That was a definite no. I knew someone was going to rape her if this was her standard behavior around guys.

“You’re talking rape and incest, little brother. That is just plain nasty,” she declared. “Maybe you’re not as safe as I thought.” My statement didn’t prompt Rena to move away, though, or even be subtle about it. I took a quick look around and no one seemed to take notice of us or knew we were siblings so I just enjoyed the rest of the bus ride prodding Rena’s butt until we arrived at our stop and disembarked.

“I’m on the pill,” Rena said as we made our way home.

“Huh?”

“I said that I’m on the pill,” she repeated. “I’m on birth control and you wouldn’t have to worry about getting me pregnant. Also, I make my sex partners wear condoms. I mean I kind of like the idea of sleeping with you, but having your baby would be kind of weird, don’t you think?”

“Are you serious, Rena?” I asked. “I mean a few minutes ago I thought we were just teasing each other. Now you’re saying that having sex with me is a good idea?”

Rena nodded her head. “I understand what you’re getting at. I guess that makes me a slut. Don’t tell Mom or Dad.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

“And I’m sorry about teasing you. Are you serious about wanting to sleep with me?”

“Uh, sure,” I responded. “I’ve had fantasies about you for years. Also, if you hadn’t been teasing me, I would never have realized the uh…interest we have in each other.”

Rena smiled and took my hand. “I’m glad,” she said. “I have a couple of friends who have been sleeping with their brothers for years. They said I should try it, but I was too afraid to ask if you wanted to have sex with me.”

“I would have felt the same about me asking you,” I said. “Uh, don’t tell your friends what we’re planning, okay?”

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” Rena said. We walked into the house and the first thing Rena did was plaster herself against my body and kiss me right on the lips with Mom standing right there watching us. I’m dead meat was my first thought. I think it would be safe to say my sister Rena can be rather unpredictable and impulsive.

“What do you think you’re doing kissing your brother like that, Rena?” Mom asked. I couldn’t detect any alarm in her voice yet, just curiosity.

“I’m just showing my new boyfriend how much I love him,” my sister responded. “I’ve decided we don’t show each other enough love around here.”

“He’s not your boyfriend,” said Mom. “He’s your brother.”

Rena disengaged from me and then hugged and kissed Mom the same way. “My goodness,” Mom exclaimed. “What has gotten into you?”

“Love canlı bahis şirketaleri has gotten into me, Mom,” Rena declared. “Now share a kiss with Philip and he can be your boyfriend, too.”

“I’m not going to kiss my own son like that,” Mom protested. “He wouldn’t want me to anyway.” I didn’t know what kind of game my sister was playing, but I figured I had better play along.

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss my beautiful mother who’s also a sexy woman?”

“Did you hear that, Mom,” Rena asked. “Philip thinks you’re sexy and I happen to agree with him. In fact, if I look as good as you when I’m your age I will be very happy.”

“But-” Rena gave Mom a little push into my arms and stepped up behind her sandwiching her between us. I was standing against the kitchen wall so I wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn’t help it. I popped a boner. There as no question that Mom could feel it, but she was the one looking apologetic. I kissed her gently on the lips. My mother was blushing, but she wasn’t trying to pull away either.

“That was nice,” Mom said. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” I responded.

“I have to get dinner started, okay?” I nodded and Rena got out of Mom’s way.

“What was that all about?” I demanded of my sister when we went upstairs. “You scared the heck out of me.”

Rena giggled. “I guess I acted on the spur of the moment. Mom is starved for affection because Dad seems to have lost interest in her.”

“What does that have to do with us?” I wasn’t privy to what went on in my parents’ intimate lives and it still didn’t make sense.

“If we’re going to be together more than once or twice we need an ally in the house or we risk discovery.” That made sense.

“But Mom will never approve of what we’re planning,” I said. “She’ll tell Dad and I’ll get my ass kicked out of the house.”

“If you haven’t noticed, Mom is a submissive and needs someone to dominate her,” Rena responded. “She’s starving for attention. Dad hasn’t been doing his job and so you’re going to take his place. I swear you could have done almost anything you wanted with her after you kissed her.” I wasn’t so sure about that. I could imagine things backfiring big time.

“I’m not so sure about this anymore, Rena.”

My sister just smiled. “You’re not sure you want to fuck my pussy?” She caressed the bulge I had going. “You’re not sure you want to shove your dick down my throat or between my fat ass cheeks?” She unzipped my fly and freed my prick.

“I…I am sure about that part,” I assured my sister. The thought of doing that to Rena had me ready to cream into her hand at that very moment.

“Mom and I come as a package deal, sweetie.” She was still fondling my prick.

“You seem to know what you’re doing, but Mom seems vulnerable and I don’t want to wind up hurting her.” I knew I was whining. I wanted to fuck Rena right where she stood, but she was in control.

“I do know what I’m doing, Philip,” Rena responded. “And I’m very glad to know you don’t want to hurt Mom because I don’t either. When I said Mom was a submissive and needed to be dominated I didn’t mean she needed to be humiliated…too much. I’ll teach you how to do it right. You won’t regret it. So, are you interested?”

“Ah!” I gasped and spurted a big wad of cum into my sister’s hand.

Rena smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes?” I nodded my head.

“Good,” she responded. She licked my wad from her hand and swallowed. “I have to wash up and change my clothes.”

I went to my room and sat down at my desk. I felt as if I was in a fantasy with Rena offering not only herself, but our mother also. Of course it would be a nightmare if anything went wrong. I had plenty of reading to do, but instead I fired up my laptop and started watching porn. On the search bar I typed in chikan videos and one of the titles caught my eye. It was called “Office Lady Groped on the Bus.” It wasn’t more than 20 minutes long so I clicked on the video and started watching. There was no dialog, but that didn’t matter. The video was produced in Japan and I didn’t understand Japanese anyway.

The plot involved this woman who boards a public bus basically standing in the aisle and minding her own business. Before long, a man moves up behind her and starts brushing her hips with his knuckles as if it was incidental contact. The woman ignores him and the man gets bolder caressing her hips. She brushes his hand away a couple of times, but he is not discouraged. The office lady doesn’t resist after her first few rebuffs are ignored and the man doesn’t waste any more time. Before long he has stripped her of her panties and pulled the woman’s bra above her tits. Before the video is over the office lady has sucked the guy off and been thoroughly fucked. The other bus passengers conveniently face the other way and ignore the action as if they are unaware of what is going on or are simply giving the pair their privacy.

The video didn’t do much for me. The actors’ genitals were censored. What was the point to that? I started imagining Rena in place of the canlı kaçak iddaa office lady and me in place of the guy fucking her. Yeah! Now I was getting into it. I couldn’t imagine anything like that happening in the U.S. In this country women would be screaming for help, attacking the assailant with pepper spray and calling the police all in about a nanosecond.

A little online research told me chikan was a groping fetish in Japan and it was quite a problem for women and schoolgirls on the subways and buses there. So much so that the Japanese public transit authorities started adding women-only cars to commuter subways and trains during rush hour. In a crowded space where there’s not much chance in getting caught, I guess even the normally polite Japanese male can be tempted to let his hands roam if he thinks he can get away with it.

I was half hoping Rena would come knocking on my door so we could get something started, but she didn’t. I went to her bedroom door and knocked. There was no answer so I decided to go down to the kitchen for a snack. That’s where I found Rena helping Mom fix dinner. She was wearing a short skirt and knit top.

“Hey Philip,” Rena called. “Like what you see?” My sister pulled up her top with one hand and her skirt with the other. I found myself gawking at her bare tits and pussy. I wasn’t the only one staring.

“Rena!” Mom yelled. “Cover yourself this instant!”

“I was just teasing him, Mom,” said Rena. “I won’t let him do anything…right now. We’ll wait until tonight.”

“What? You two are planning to have sex together?” Mom started to look kind of nervous as if she wanted to make her escape. “I think I need to sit down.”

“I can finish up,” Rena said. She whispered in my ear. “Go sit with Mom. Flirt with her.” I nodded although I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.

“Let’s go sit in the den, Mom.” I grabbed her hand and she let me lead her. We had a reasonable amount of privacy there. We sat down on a love seat. I placed my hand around her shoulders. I let my free hand drape on her thigh. We were seated together like lovers, but Mom seemed oblivious.

“Please tell me this is some kind of a joke you two have cooked up,” Mom whispered.

“I don’t know if it’s a joke or not,” I said. “Rena hasn’t let me know yet.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“That would make me very happy.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Mom, haven’t you ever fantasized about making love to someone in particular?”

“Of course I have,” Mom replied, “many times with many men, but the fantasies were never realized.”

“It’s the same with me; thousands of times with thousands of girls and women.”

That made Mom smile. “Oh my,” Mom responded. “Thousands?”

“Thousands,” I affirmed. “One of them is Rena. Another one is you.” I caressed her thigh and Mom gasped. She covered my wandering hand with her own, but didn’t push mine away.

“That’s not possible. Rena is your sister.”

“And you are my mother,” I responded. Our faces were so close together I could feel the puffs of breath on my face as she spoke.

“But what if your father finds out?” I wasn’t sure if Mom was talking about Rena and me or her and me.

“We’ll have to be careful so he doesn’t find out, Mom.” I kissed her then gently like the first time and Mom practically melted. I felt like I could get more assertive with my mother, but then I heard Rena yell that Dad had just pulled into the driveway. Mom gasped and stood up.

“Don’t ever try that with me again, young man,” Mom said. “I belong to your father. And…and no more of this monkey business with your sister either, if you know what’s good for you.” She left without waiting for a response from me. Well, I didn’t have anything to say anyway. That did not go well at all. I walked back to the kitchen and gave Rena a thumb down gesture when she saw me. She smiled and shrugged her shoulders in response.

“Please set the table, Rena,” Mom said.

“Yes, Mother,” Rena responded quite formally which was quite out of character for her. I guessed Mom was feeling kind of guilty because she doted over Dad getting him this and that which was stuff he usually got for himself. Dad didn’t mind the extra attention, but he didn’t seem to appreciate it either. Not too much later we sat down to dinner.

Dinner conversation was the usual for a Friday, plans for that evening or weekend. Rena said she was going to call a girlfriend and ask her if she wanted to go to a party since her prior plans had been unexpectedly changed. I said I didn’t have any plans so I was just going to hang out around the house and surf the web on my PC.

“What about you two?” Rena asked.

“We’re going to the movies,” said Mom.

Dad got a sour look on his face. “I dunno,” he said. “I’ve had a rough week at work. I’d rather stay home and relax.”

“I wanted to see a movie tonight,” Mom whined.

“So see a movie,” Dad responded. “That’s what we have Netflix for.” Mom just shrugged her shoulders.

“We never go anywhere anymore,” Mom whined again.

“I’ll take canlı kaçak bahis you, Mom,” I said surprising myself.

Both Mom’s and Dad’s faces lit up. “You will?” they chorused.

“Sure I will.”

“You’re going on a date, Mom,” Rena exclaimed. “That’s great!”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Mom. “I’ll just stay home with your father.” I think she was being a bit apprehensive after what happened in the den.

“What do you mean he doesn’t have to,” Dad said. “You just said you wanted to go see a movie. Now’s your chance. You know how I hate going to those overpriced multiplex cinemas when we have a perfectly good TV set at home. Philip would be doing us both a favor.”

“I would rather go out with you,” Mom told her husband. “It doesn’t have to be the movies.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be a complete gentleman.” Dad and Rena laughed along with me. Mom just frowned.

“Heh! Now don’t go disappointing your mother,” Dad said. “Take her out for a drink after the show. After one glass of wine she’ll be putty in your hands.”

Mom glared at Dad for a moment and then said, “I will be very happy to go out with you tonight, Philip.”

After dinner Dad handed me a wad of cash. “I really appreciate this, son. I can’t stand the movies your mother likes.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“She doesn’t have a curfew,” he said and winked.

I had a chance to talk to Rena while Mom was getting ready. I told her what happened in the den and what Mom said to me.

“She told me just about the same thing in the kitchen,” Rena said and giggled. “Gosh! Dad is practically driving Mom into your arms.”

“I don’t think that will happen anytime soon if ever,” I responded. “Mom made it very clear she isn’t interested.”

“It won’t happen if you let her make all the decisions. You’ve got to learn to assert yourself.” I just shrugged my shoulders. I think I’m too easygoing to get into this domination bullshit, especially with my own mother. Maybe I should get a girlfriend was my next thought and forget this incest fantasy with my mother and sister. My last girlfriend and I broke up just before school started. It was an amicable breakup. She was on her way to an out of state school and I was staying here. We both realized a long distance relationship wasn’t going to work. We gave up our virginity to each other so at least I had some fond memories. Oh well.

Mom dressed casually in a blouse and slacks. I drove her car and we arrived in plenty of time. Now sitting in an auditorium waiting for a movie to start these days just forces one to watch nonstop commercials with the volume so loud you can’t talk to the person next to you. I didn’t want to go through that. I spotted a wine bar nearby which reminded me of what Dad said about Mom not being able to hold her liquor. Anyway, I steered her through the door before she realized where we were. I ordered a half carafe (two glasses) of white wine for her and a bottle of mineral water for myself.

“I don’t want any wine,” Mom said after I ordered.

“You need something to relax you,” I said. “You seem too tense.”

“I think I have a reason to be tense.”

“I told you I’d be a complete gentleman. Why did you accept if you don’t think you can trust me?”

“I think it was more out of irritation with your father than anything else.”

“I can always take you home now. Would you prefer that?”

“N-no, I don’t want to go home.”

I handed her some cash. “Pay the lady and let’s sit down.” Mom blushed and did just that. Hey, this domination thing might just work out I thought.

“I don’t think I should drink this much wine,” Mom said after she took her first sip.

“Don’t forget that I’m driving so you don’t have to worry about getting behind the wheel. Now drink up. We don’t want to miss the preview of coming attractions.”

Mom finished the wine in time for us to see the previews. She was a little unsteady when she got to her feet and she had to hang onto my arm when we walked. “He he he he!” Mom giggled and leaned into me. “I don’t want to see the movie anymore. Let’s go someplace else.”

“Uh, sure Mom. Where did you want to go?” I wasn’t interested in the movie Mom wanted to see anyway.

“He he he he! I want to go someplace private so we can fuck.”

“What?”

“That’s what you got me drunk for, isn’t it?”

“No…uh…yeah.” I was sure it was the wine talking, but I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity Mom presented me with. I escorted her back to the car and we drove out of town. I knew of a make out spot that my ex-girlfriend and I used that was near property her parents owned. Nobody went there this time of year so we’d have some privacy.

Except for an occasional giggle Mom was silent during the short drive to our destination. I was silent too. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing which might cause my mother to have second thoughts. On the other hand I was having second thoughts of my own.

I was about to commit incest with my mother taking advantage of her intoxicated condition. Should I wait until she sobered up? Will she still be willing without alcohol clouding her judgment? I wasn’t going to physically force her so I’d stop if she put up any type of resistance. Even saying no once will be enough for me to stop, but I wasn’t going to be the first to chicken out.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

That first weekend I fucked the faggot a lot. Pretty much the entire time he was with me he had a load of my cum inside him, either deep up his ass or filling his belly. I made sure to keep a good bit of it on his face, too. I wanted him to smell it constantly, to know it was there at all times, an ever-present reminder of what he was used for and his main purpose in life – being a man’s cumdump.

He was supposed to head home Sunday morning, but I still had some training in mind for the pussyboy. I woke up early with my usual piss hardon tenting the sheets. The pussyboy was sleeping soundly on the floor next to the bed. Not that he had any choice, of course: I’d put a tight, locking ball stretcher around his useless nuts, then chained them to the leg of the bed. Just enough chain to keep him in place, but not enough for him to go anywhere. I wanted to reinforce in his little cum-drenched brain that he was property, controlled even when he slept. Apparently, he was so tired from being used that he was actually able to sleep on the hard floor, more likely from exhaustion than anything else.

I grabbed the keys from the night stand and unlocked the chain, then jerked on it hard, waking the pussyboy up abruptly as his nuts were yanked. It’s a great way for a faggot to wake up: with a man casually inflicting pain, suffering from the first moment, knowing that’s how its day will continue if its owner so desires.

Once the cunt was awake, I reeled in the chain until he climbed on the bed. I put him to work licking my erection. I think he realized it was about to go in his ass, because he slobbered on it a lot, trying to get it very wet so it wouldn’t tear his hole when I fucked him. I hate using lube. Dry fucking a faggot can be so much more satisfying. I love to make pigs squeal, and that’s a great way to do it. When you’ve got a cock the size of mine, though, you have to be careful not to damage the property, especially one as new and inexperienced as this bitch. That’s why I usually go for some throat lube when I fuck.

I reached down and grabbed the pussyboy’s tits and pulled him up and on to my cock. I just loved the look on his face as he impaled himself on my rod, trying to ease it in slowly, working hard to accommodate the mass of flesh inside him. During those early days, he always tried to get it to slide in slowly. Obviously, that couldn’t be allowed. Once he was positioned just right and trying to relax on to my cock, just when it was positioned to be stretching his sphincter the most, the time that required him to relax the most to get in it, I pinched his tits really hard. Got a squeal every time. He’d also clinch his asshole around my cock nice and tight, his body trying to force the invader back out. That’s when I’d thrust my hips into him, ramming my cock home, holding his body in place with my grip on his nipples. That didn’t get a squeal. That always got a gasp, sometimes a scream, all of it music to my ears. The faggot would go completely rigid as he was impaled. Suddenly, the cock he’d been trying to ease through his anal ring was buried deep in his guts, way up in that second sphincter at the far end of his rectum.

Some faggots really love getting a cock up their ass. They love being fucked by a man. You can tell from the look on their face when it’s happening, a look of pure ecstasy. Not my cockpig, though. Not then, not even now. His look is completely different. I’m sure he gets some pleasure from it, but the look of agony on his sweet young face has never changed from the first time I fucked him until now. Regardless of whose cock is in his hole, his expression is always one of pain, mixed with something in his eyes that says, “I hate this. I need this. I deserve it.”

I made the pussyboy ride my cock slowly for a while, forcing himself up and down on it. I liked having gravity help get my cock deeper inside his body. By now I’d managed to stretch his hole out to perfectly fit my cock like it was tailor-made for me. But I also had other plans, so I finally let go of his tits and grabbed his legs. I spun him around facing away from me, not bothering to remove my cock from his hole. Ever seen a faggot have a big, thick cock rotated inside him? It stretches the hole in unique ways, adding a new level of pain to the fucking. It made the pussyboy gasp and squeal, which just made my cock throb in his ass all the more. Once I had him positioned, I used my cock and hips to shove him forward until his head was off the edge of the bed and his ass was up in the air. He was gripping the side of the bed, trying to keep from falling, but I had a firm grip on his hips. As tight as his hole was hugging my cock, I probably could have held him there with just my dick. I rammed him good, giving his hole one of the hardest fuckings of the entire weekend. The pussyboy was crying and squealing from the pounding I was giving his guts, until I finally filled him with another load of my cum.

I held the güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri pussyboy in place after I came, waiting for my cock to soften some. As soon as it did, I released my morning piss deep inside him, giving him an enema of my own personal fluid. When he realized what was happening, the faggot began to pant and whine like a wounded puppy. He’d grown prepared in the last few days for me to use his mouth as my urinal, but apparently it never occurred to the stupid bitch I could use his ass that way as well. I always have a full bladder first thing in the morning, so I really put a lot of piss up his hole. When I was finished, I slowly pulled my cock out until only the head was inside his hole.

“Not a drop, bitch. Don’t you lose one fucking drop of that piss, especially not on my bed,” I warned.

The faggot clenched his ass the best he could after the coring out I’d just given him. After I pulled my cock out completely, I ordered him to stay like a good dog while I got a nice large butt plug. A big fat one, just perfect for sealing up his hole and keeping all my piss and cum inside him. I allowed him to spit on the plug before I shoved it in, since I was feeling generous.

Once he was securely plugged, I ordered the bitch on to the floor where he belonged. To his credit, I didn’t have to tell him what to do: he leaned in and started cleaning my cock, licking off the piss, cum and ass slime. He even licked my balls for good measure, making sure to clean off any ball sweat which had accumulated while I slept. I watched his face carefully so I could see when the cramps started. It took a little while, but when they hit, it was easy to see.

“Time for breakfast, faggot. Coffee and a cheese omelet. Get busy,” I said, snapping my fingers. He crawled away towards the kitchen, his little drain still hard as a rock. The view as he crawled away was exquisite – that small, perfect, pale ass of his, still showing red marks from my fingers where I’d held on to him as I fucked him; the base of that big plug spreading his cheeks apart, and his stretched nuts dangling and swinging as he crawled. Not putting him back in the chastity cage yet had definitely been a good idea.

After I threw on some shorts and a shirt, I followed the faggot down to the kitchen. He was cooking my breakfast, occasionally groaning and gripping his belly as the cramps twisted his guts. He was hopping back and forth from one foot to the other, trying to hold everything inside him. Now and then I could actually hear my piss sloshing around inside him. It was so amusing I decided to leave him that way until after breakfast. Besides, it was great training for the faggot. It clearly communicated the message I wanted to send – my pleasure, needs, and desires are paramount; your suffering means nothing. I wanted him to fully grasp the fact that, no matter how badly he needed to empty his bowels, it was nothing compared to the importance of making me a nice breakfast and allowing me to enjoy it in peace.

While I ate, the pussyboy cleaned my feet and sucked my toes, not just because I enjoy it, but because I wanted his ass high in the air, so that all that piss inside him sloshed around good. The cramps were really getting to him. I could tell from the high-pitched whining noises he kept making.

“One more sound from you, fuckhole, and I’d adding a full enema bag to what’s already inside you. Then you go in the cage. Plugged,” I told him, barely interrupting my breakfast. Silence. Just the sound of him slobbering on my toes. He was even crying silently. His training was clearly taking hold.

After breakfast, I grabbed a leash and attached it to the faggot, then led him out to the back yard, to the spot where I’d made him do his business. He was rocking from knee to knee, anxious for me to pull the plug. The cramps and his desperation had outweighed his shame at last. Perfect.

“Well, faggot? Do you need to do your business? Need to piss and shit?” I asked, holding his leash in my hand.

“Oh, yes Sir! Please, Sir! It hurts so bad, Sir! Please, please, please Sir!” he begged.

“No fag,” I replied. “If you’re going to shit like an animal, beg like one.”

Reinforcement of status and role. It’s essential to training a cockpig.

The fag immediately bent down and starting licking my feet, whining like a dog that wants to go out, while I got my phone out. I finally reached over and snatched the plug out of his hole, then gave him permission to release what was inside of him. I have some wonderful video of him squatting there like a beast, my piss, cum and his own waste flowing out of his ass, a look of blissful relief on his face, mixed with a deep blush of shame.

Ordinarily, I’d never let a faggot waste a load of my cum and piss like that. But it was important to train the pussyboy that I controlled his body and his most private bodily functions; that he had no privacy, even for something güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri like this. It was more important than anything else to have him here, pissing and shitting in the yard on the end of a leash, observed and supervised by a real man. There would be time for the other stuff later. This was vital to reshaping the bitch’s mind and self-image. Training like this carved away years of social programming, replacing it with an imprint of his new, truer existence, like a brand in his mind which he could never remove nor hide, even from himself.

When he was done, I hosed the fuckboy off, then left him outside on his leash to dry. We were approaching time for him to leave. I retrieved his chastity cage from the basement, then brought the bitch inside. He knelt in the living room floor while I filled a metal mixing bowl with ice, then added some water and brought it back with me.

I knew he was horny. He’d been in that cage for a month, and the only time he’d cum was the first evening with me, when he spontaneously shot his load while I whipped his virgin hole with my belt. Other than that, nothing. Not even a wet dream. I’d made the pussyboy keep careful track of each frustrated erection and report the number to me at the end of each day when we talked, along with any wet dreams he’d had. This exercise kept him constantly aware of his little drain being locked away, as if the cage didn’t do a good enough job of that. It also helped to remind him daily of what he had lost, what was no longer an option for him. See, a lot of men, when they lock a faggot in chastity, they just leave them like that. Problem is, the bitch quickly becomes accustomed to the cage. After a month or so, he gets so used to being horny all the time, it becomes the new normal. Chastity loses some of its effectiveness – the longing for release goes away, and the burning need becomes more of a dull ache he gets used to and begins to cope with, then ignore. I don’t allow that, of course. You can’t, not if you are working to reshape a faggot’s mind as well as behavior.

I went over to the front door where I keep my shoes and boots. I chose a nice heavy pair of combat boots, the pair I like wearing the most. Since the faggot still had the ball stretcher locked on his nuts, I figured they should be put to good use.

“Stand up and spread your legs, fuckhole,” I ordered. Once he was properly positioned, I tied my boots to his nuts. “Not completely useless anymore, are they, pig?” I smirked. Once they were securely attached, I dropped them, jerking his balls hard and eliciting another squeal and groan from the fag.

“Now, fuckhole, we’re going to play a little game,” I said, handing him the bowl of ice water. “I’m going to stroke that little drain between its legs. Why? Because its mine and I fucking choose to, that’s why. However, it doesn’t have permission to cum. It will not cum under any circumstances, is that clear, cumdump?”

He nodded his head, fear in his eyes. We both knew what a challenge this would be for the pussyboy. At his age, those balls fill up fast, and the need to cum, when it hits, burns red hot. Control was never his strong point, anyway. Before I made him lock himself up, he came twice a day without fail, sometimes more. His balls had never been this full before, and any relief he’d gotten from his spontaneous orgasm that first night had faded away. I probably could have gotten him to shoot with just a couple of strokes if that was what I wanted.

“If it cums, we’re done. Forever, faggot. I’ll beat its ass until it can hardly walk, then dump it out at its car and never speak to it again. I have zero use for fags that put their own pleasure above my orders. Got it, pissbreath?”

“Yes, Sir, it understands,” he said, practically a whisper.

I grabbed the lube from the coffee table, and put a big glob in my hand. “Now, fuckhole, if it thinks it might cum, it will use that bowl of ice water to stop itself. It better pull out of my hand and soak its drain until the feeling passes, got it?” He nodded. I grabbed his little nub, which was still hard as steel. These young fags, they are always so horny, their drains standing at attention. I slowly began to stroke him, giving special attention to the head of his nub, where it is most sensitive. The faggot didn’t have much meat between his legs, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t good for anything anyway. I like a faggot with a small drain. All those nerve endings packed so close together makes them extra sensitive, just perfect for torture. Plus, it saved me time working to shrink it down. With faggots that have big drains, it can be great training to keep them locked away without erection until they begin to lose size permanently, while always reminding them they are becoming even less nominally male that they already were. Really fucks with their heads in the best possible way.

I stroked him exactly four times before he pulled güvenilir bahis şirketleri away and plunged his little nub into the ice water. Must have stung like hell from the sound he made. Freezing cold water isn’t conducive to an erection, that’s for sure. Still, it took him about two minutes of icing his dicklet before he was able to present it to me again safely. He was so adorable, biting his lip, swaying from foot to foot as I stroked him back to erection, each move making my boots swing and stretch his balls more.

We did this for about half an hour. Edging him, bringing him right to the point of orgasm, but then denying him. I wanted those balls throbbing like never before, swollen and blue with unspent cum. The perfect condition for the faggot’s two-hour drive home.

I finally made him leave his drain in the ice water until he was fully soft, I removed my boots and the ball stretcher, then put the chastity cage back on him. The first time it was locked on, I made him do it on Skype. Psychologically, I wanted him to know he’d done this to himself, even if it was on my order. As he got progressively hornier, and his burning need for release grew and turned to desperation, I wanted him to remember he was responsible for his condition, that he chose this. Now, I had a different message for him as I personally clicked the lock in place: this is my property, and I do with it whatever I want.

Once he was locked up again, I reattached his leash and plugged his hole with the butt plug he’d worn on the drive down from his place. I led him back outside. I needed to piss again, and he needed a souvenir for the long ride home. I had him drink some of my piss, so he’d have the taste of it lingering in his mouth, but most of it I used to hose him down good, especially his hair and face. I wanted his car to be filled with the smell of my piss. I was training him as my urinal, and I wanted him to spend those two hours smelling like one. With luck, his roommate would be home when he arrived, stinking like a men’s restroom, his ass plugged, dressed like a slut with his chastity cage profiling through his spandex shorts. There is nothing like being exposed to your best friend for what you really are to change a faggot’s self-image for good.

Once enough piss dripped off the bitch that he wouldn’t contaminate my car too much, I grabbed his leash and led him over to the trunk. He looked stunned when I ordered him to crawl in.

“I don’t need a toilet stinking up my car, pissbreath,” I explained. I wish I had a picture of the look on his face as I was shutting the trunk.

I drove him back to the shopping center where he’d parked a few days before, his car right near the front of the lot, next to the busy roadway. I made sure to park so the trunk would be in full view of both the road and the traffic in and out of the lot. Slaves can’t be shy. Shyness has to be trained out of them step by step. I grabbed the fag’s tiny Spandex underwear and flip flops from the front floorboard where he’d left them on the ride to my house. When I opened the trunk and the sunlight hit the pussyboy, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He squealed and started hyperventilating, covering his little drain and cage in case anyone could see him. The stench of piss coming off of him was powerful. I tossed the shorts to him.

“Get dressed, bootlicker. Time to go.” He squirmed around until he got into the skintight Spandex, then crawled out of the trunk. I could see people driving by staring at him, and I’m sure he saw them, too. He did another one of those full body blushes I loved so much, standing there in full view of the road and the busy shopping center, naked except for a padlocked leather slave collar, a pair of very small Spandex underwear which showed off every curve of his ass, and some flip flops. The padlock and outline of his chastity cage were both clearly visible. He looked exactly like what he was: a faggot fuckhole. Obviously, I took my time unlocking his collar. I wanted to give him ample time to see the decent people doing their grocery shopping staring at him. As soon as his collar was unlocked, I left him standing there while I unlocked the console and retrieved his cell phone, wallet, and car keys.

“Show your appreciation for my time and training, cunt. Kiss my feet and say goodbye,” I ordered.

He stared at me for a second, like he couldn’t believe I’d make him do such a thing in such a public place. I glared right back at him, drilling my gaze into those deep blue puppy dog eyes of his, making sure he could see I was completely serious, that I expected obedience without question. He dropped his gaze, blushed again even deeper, then sank to his knees right there in the parking lot. The little fuckhole started kissing my boots and thanking me for training him.

I finally dropped his keys next to his head. “It will text me when it arrives home.” With that, I turned and got in my car and drove off, leaving the faggot on his knees nearly naked next to the road.

I’m sure it was a long and unpleasant ride home for the faggot. That’s exactly what I intended. He couldn’t even stop to get a drink to wash the taste of my piss out of his mouth, since he reeked of it and had no other clothes with him.

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Chapter 2

I’m out, without Andy, again. He’s off doing God knows what. I saw that blonde asshole loitering around the disabled toilets in the library again. It makes me feel sick. It makes me feel twitchy and sick.

I can’t stand that guy.

I came out to get away from that. I came out, even though I’ve largely stopped hooking up with girls. I seem to have lost my appetite for it a bit. Not completely, but a bit.

Tonight’s different. There’s a storm brewing. A hurricane. A tiny, blonde tornado is blowing a gale. She’s all over the room. Twisting and dancing, working the room. Bouncing off the walls, leaving a trail of destruction in her path. There isn’t a male pair of eyes that aren’t on her. There are probably several pairs of female eyes on her, too. She’s easily the best-looking woman in the whole place. Easily. She’s the best-looking woman I’ve seen in this whole town. The whole state. Hell, she might be the best-looking woman I’ve seen in my life.

Despite everything else that’s going on. I look. She sees me looking, or she feels me looking. Either way, she saunters over. The sea of people part for her. She seems to expect it. She walks like a woman who knows herself. She knows who she is. She knows what she wants.

Tonight, for whatever reason, that seems to be me.

“I’ve seen you around.” She says, not bothering with something as mundane as, “Hello.”

“Is that right?” I smile. I feel a trickle of desire seep through me. I feel my body react to her. Warming and thickening. Stiffening. Bracing for impact.

She doesn’t mince words. Like I said, she knows what she wants. She invites me back to her room, without any pre-amble.

“Uh, j-just so you know,” I stammer, “I’m not looking for anything serious. I’m kinda hung up on someone else.”

I always do this. I do it, even if it means striking out. I don’t sleep with a woman, unless I’ve made sure they understand that it’s casual. I like sex. I like casual sex. I just can’t do it, if I feel like I could hurt someone by doing it.

One eyebrow shoots up in disdain, “Hmm,” she says, “I’ve heard all about that little line of yours.” She shakes her head dismissively at me. “That doesn’t work for me. I’m not going to fuck a guy, who’s thinking about fucking some other girl. Frankly, I’d rather just fuck myself.”

My mouth drops open in shock. Despite myself and despite her, I can’t believe she just said that.

“Can I watch?” I say, before I can stop myself.

She laughs and shakes her head at me. She’s already gone. She’s already left. She doesn’t look back. She’s already blazing a trail through someone else’s night.

I ask around. Her name is Ashleigh. Ashleigh McKinnon.

*

I spent last night at Holly’s. She and I used to hook up on a semi-regular basis. We were friends with benefits. At some point, we just became friends. These days, I go over there when I feel like I need a bit of space from Andy. Sometimes, our room feels a little too small for both of us. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t really breathe because he’s there. Sometimes, I feel like that even when he’s not there. I feel like that, just from looking at the painting above his bed. The colours seem more intense now, somehow. Sometimes, when I look at it, it feels like its swirling. Churning. It seems sensual now. Like something that writhes and thrashes when no-one’s looking. I look at the brush strokes in the thick layers of paint. I think of the hands that put them there. Sometimes, when he’s not there, I run my fingers over the cold, smooth paint. I touch it, the way I imagine he touched it, when he painted it.

Last night was one of those nights, I needed to get away. I feel much better this morning. My head is clear. Holly is great. She’s like a breath of fresh air. I’m glad I got away. I unlock the door and swing it open. I’m stunned for a second but manage to close the door quickly. I lock it, too.

Andy’s entire body physically recoils in shock. He literally jumps. He levitates for a second, then he slams his laptop shut and covers his dick with both hands.

“Holy shit!” He gasps. His jeans are down around his ankles. He’s sitting on his bed. He has no shirt on. His chest is heaving. Maybe it’s from the shock of me interrupting him. Maybe it’s from what he was doing.

“Fuck.” He whispers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“It’s no problem, Andy,” I say, “everyone does it.”

“Look.” He says, looking everywhere except for directly at me. “I’m dying of shame. Could you just get the fuck out of here for a second?”

“Nah, it’s not a big deal. You’ve caught me lots of times.”

“Well, it’s a big deal to me.” He says quietly.

I sigh. There’s no way I’m leaving him like this. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. I’m so hard from the sight of him like this, I doubt I could put one foot in front of the other.

“Tell you what,” I say, “if you’re going to make a huge deal out of this, why canlı bahis don’t we just both jerk off. Let’s just get it out of the way, so neither of us is uncomfortable about it?”

He takes a while to answer. Like he’s unsure what to say. At last, he says, “O-okay.”

Okay? Seriously?

I sit down next to him, as quickly as I can, unbuckling my belt and unzipping my fly before he can change his mind.

“What are we watching?” I ask, opening his laptop.

He lurches forward, trying to wrestle it out of my hands. I’m too quick though.

“Hmm,” I say, “‘bottom struggling to take it’, huh?”

He goes as red as can be. Redder than I’ve ever seen him. Bright, bright red.

“Nice.” I say, trying to calm him down.

The fact that he searches for things like this, makes me feel twisted and sick with desire. I want to know what else he searches for. I want to know what he wants. I want to know what he likes. That’s what I want. I want to know what he likes. I want to know everything in the world that he likes, and I want to give it to him. My dick is pulsing and demanding immediate attention.

“Uh, um, West, this is, uh, gay porn.”

I laugh a little then.

What the hell does he think I think he watches? Straight porn?

“No shit, sherlock. It’s fine, I’ll just focus on the ass. Afterall, an ass is an ass.”

His face is still bright red. I press play quickly. I know if I don’t, he’s going to come to his senses. I’m so turned on, if I don’t do this now, I know I’m going to do something even more stupid. The video starts playing. He was already a few minutes in. One guy is bent over. He’s on his hands and knees. The other one is behind him. He has three fingers in his ass. Deep in his ass. The guy on his knees does seem to be struggling to take it. His face is grimacing slightly and he’s making terrible, beautiful sounds. Sounds just like that fucking Chad made, when Andy was inside him.

I close my eyes quickly, trying to block that thought from my mind. I reach forward and turn the laptop slightly. I do it, so Andy can see the screen better, but the second I do, I notice that I can see his reflection in the screen now. I see it clearly. Clear as a bell. It’s like looking at him in a mirror.

He has his hand on his dick, he’s stroking slowly. Timidly. He seems nervous. I get hold of my own dick and stroke it like I mean it. I want to show him that this is okay. I don’t take my eyes off the screen. I don’t take my eyes off Andy. I see his body. His chest and his arms. His big, beautiful hand, wrapped around his big, beautiful cock. I see the way he’s breathing. It’s hard and uneven. His chest looks so good, I think about leaning over. Just leaning my head down. If I did, I could lick him. That’s how close he is. I could run my tongue over his chest. I could flick his nipple, if I just leant down a little. My dick is leaking. It’s leaking and throbbing. Aching. Aching for more.

I adjust my legs, a little. I spread them open the tiniest bit. I do it, so I can touch him. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I press my knee against his. I don’t know if he feels it. He starts coming right as I move. He cries out when he comes. A long, low cry. He tries to stifle it, but I hear it. The sound is so beautiful, it makes me come too. My hips buck with the force of it. I shoot a load of epic proportions. A heroic amount. A superhuman amount. It just keeps spraying and spraying. Pulsing. Spilling all over my lap.

Seconds after I come, it hits me. The utter humiliation. Red hot mortification. I feel like a fool. I thought he’d do something. I thought he’d touch me. I thought he would. I thought, surely, surely, surely to God, he’d touch me if I took my dick out with him. I feel like a creep.

Why can’t you just get it into your head? He’s not into you.

I get up and wipe myself down with a towel. I toss his towel over to him. He’s sitting there, looking a little shell-shocked.

“Is it weird that we just did that?” He asks, sounding bewildered.

“Of course it’s weird,” I say, feigning a level of confidence that’s the exact opposite of what I feel, “but it doesn’t have to be. It doesn’t have to be weird, unless we make it weird.”

Of course, it’s fucking weird, Andy. Of course, it’s weird. It’s weird as fuck. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. What makes it even more weird is that I obviously came onto you. I obviously tried to touch you, and I don’t think you even noticed.

What the hell could be weirder than that?

After Andy leaves for his lecture, I go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I look in the mirror, for a long time. I look at my face. It’s not a bad face. I’ve always thought I lucked out a little in the looks department, if I’m being completely honest. I’m not vain, or anything like that. It’s just that girls seem to like me. I’ve always done okay, with girls. I’ve always found it easy, bahis siteleri getting girls. I feel pretty confident flirting or coming onto women. I wonder if there’s something about me, that makes me unattractive to men. I’ve never been hit on by a guy. Never. Not once. I wonder if there’s something about me that’s inherently unappealing to men.

I wish to fuck, I knew what it was.

I wish I could ask Andy about it. Obviously, he’s the last guy on Earth I could ask. The very last one.

*

I’m in the quad outside the library, when I run into Ashleigh again. Or should I say, she runs into me. She spots me and comes stalking over.

“Hey Baxter,” she says, speaking loudly and clearly. Loudly enough for people around us to hear, “how’s it hanging.”

When she says that, she looks down at my dick. She does it on purpose. Thoughtful and calculated. Very, very deliberate.

I must look a little shocked or abashed, as she comes a little closer. She speaks a little quieter.

This time she says, “I’ve heard all about the snake in your pants. I’ve heard it’s a big snake. A python. A serpent.”

She’s smiling when she says it. Her eyes are smiling like crazy. She has big, blue eyes. She has eyes like an angel, though, she’s very clearly no angel. She’s as far from an angel, as anyone can possibly get. She speaks so sweetly, if you were a few feet away, you’d think she was talking about hosting a charity event or something like that.

I stand there, gobsmacked. Opening and closing my mouth. Trying to recover from the shock.

She smiles up at me beatifically, “That’s not all I’ve heard.” She’s whispering into my ear now. I can feel her soft breath on my neck, “I’ve heard you know exactly what you’re doing with it.”

With that, she’s gone.

Order is restored. People are milling around me in the quad again. The leaves on the trees are glossy and new. Bright green. People are walking along, with their bags over their shoulders and library books tucked under their arms. Walking around, as if nothing just happened. I look up at the sky. I’m stunned to see that it’s cloudless. I feel as though there should be clouds on the horizon at least.

Dark clouds.

Storm clouds.

*

On the surface, things between Andy and I are fine. They’re perfect. That’s because, I’m in the process of discovering, I’m one hell of an actor. I’m acting as though everything’s fine. I’m acting my ass off. It seems to be working.

Lucky me. If I don’t make it in finance, I’ll have acting to fall back on.

We talk shit and laugh together, just like we always do. It’s just when he’s not there, I lie curled up on my bed with my quilt over me. I lie there, unsure if I’m feeling really hot or really cold. I feel sick from the pain. My whole body aches. I ache, as if I have a fever. I feel sick and empty inside. I feel horny too. I’m horny for him all the time. I feel sick and empty and achy and horny, all the time. Every second, this is how I feel. I can’t understand why he doesn’t want me. I know that’s stupid. I know it is. I feel like a spoilt brat, thinking like that. He doesn’t have to want me. He doesn’t owe me anything. No-one does.

I don’t know why I can’t get that through my thick skull.

*

“Come on,” I say, “come out with me. Just come out for a while.”

“Who are you going out with?” He asks.

“The Bro’s,” I admit, “but come on, come anyway. You’ll have fun, you’ll see.” I know I’m pathetic. I can see it. I can feel it. I just can’t stop it.

He looks thoughtful for a moment, “Ah, okay, okay, you win. I’ll come, but just for one drink.”

I start laughing from happiness. “Oh, Andy, you’re the best. I love you, bro.”

He looks up in utter disdain. He shakes his head at me emphatically. He raises his hand, pointing his finger up to his head, to the embroidered lettering on the cap I gave him.

It says, “Ugh.”

Despite everything, I laugh at that. It feels like the first time in a while that I’ve laughed like that. How ironic that the same person who makes me so sad, also makes me so happy.

*

“Hey fags.” Says Alex Meeking.

Alex lives a few doors down. He’s an honest to God asshole. Honest to God, he is. Usually, I can find something to like about everyone I meet. I’ve known Alex for almost a year and I’ve yet to find something I find even vaguely tolerable about him. The second he speaks, my whole-body tenses. I feel an almost uncontrollable urge to shield Andy. To protect Andy. I always feel like this. Even if someone so much as looks at him the wrong way, I want to guard and defend him. With my words and my body. I’m wildly protective of him. I want to remove anything even vaguely destructive from his path. Forcibly, if need be. I don’t mean to feel like this, I just do.

“Hey Alex.” I say evenly.

I feel Andy stiffen beside me. He loathes Alex. With good reason. The guy is a shit bahis şirketleri and homophobe to boot. Loudly and proudly homophobic.

“Let it go,” I say to Andy, “He’s not worth your time.”

“That’s how rumours get started, West. You can’t just let it go.”

When he says that, I let myself imagine for a second, that he feels protective of me, too. That he wants to keep me safe, too. That the thought of something bad happening to me, hurts him, too. That’s the thing about Andy, I do feel safe when I’m with him. When I’m with him, I feel like nothing can touch me.

“I don’t care about rumours.”

“That’s because you don’t know the damage rumours like this can do to your life.”

“Just let it go, Andy, I don’t mind.”

After that, I go to the library and Andy goes to the art room. He’s getting started on a piece for his final exam.

*

I’m on my way back from the library when I see it. It’s late. Much later than I normally stay at the library. I ran into some people I know, and we landed up going to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. So, it’s late by the time I get back to our dorm. It’s darker and quieter than usual. Lots of people are knuckling down. Getting stuck in. It’s nearly the end of the year. The thought of exams is becoming an unpleasant reality.

As I walk down the hall, I get that heightened feeling. It’s familiar now. That little sense of anticipation. I think Andy will be home. He should be. He said he wasn’t going to the art room for long. I hope he’s home. I’ve started to feel a little stressed before I even open the door. I hate it when he’s not home when he should be. I hate it because I know what it means. I know what he’s doing, if he’s not working and he’s not home with me.

I’m halfway down the hall, probably eight or ten rooms away from ours, when I hear the quick click of a lock turning and a door opening. It’s Andy.

Andy?

Not only is it Andy, it’s Andy coming out of Alex Meeking’s room.

Holy shit. Was Andy with Alex?

My heart starts pounding instantly. For a second, I don’t want to believe it. Maybe, he just went to Alex’s room to tell him to fuck off and keep his homophobic bullshit to himself. That’s what I want to believe, but I don’t. I can’t. I can’t convince myself of that for a second. Not for one single second.

I see it.

I see the way Andy’s walking. I know that walk. I’ve seen him walk like that lots of times. Whenever we’re out and he’s disappeared for a while, when he gets back, he walks like that. I see him walking like that, whenever he comes back after going out, after his phone has been buzzing incessantly. I see him walking like that, when he comes out of the disabled toilets in the library.

I know that walk.

It’s a slow, leisurely gait. He presses one hand deep in his pocket. He swings his other arm casually as he moves. He walks ever so slightly buck kneed. It’s very slight. If you didn’t watch him very closely, you’d miss it. You have to look hard, but if you know him like I do, you can’t miss it. You can’t help seeing that little swagger, when he walks like that.

I know that walk.

I stand there, silently. I’m shaking. Nauseous. Sickened. It’s the first time in my life, something has made me feel sick to my stomach. My chest aches. I don’t move. I wait until Andy disappears into our room. I stand there in the hallway. Just waiting.

I consider going into Alex’s room and demanding to know what the fuck he just did with Andy. I consider demanding to know how the fuck he got Andy to do it with him. I don’t though. Not because it isn’t my place. Not because it would be rude. I don’t, because I know that if I go into that room and see Alex’s smug, freshly fucked face, I am going to lose my mind. I know, seeing that would be very bad for Alex. I know, seeing that, would put my future in jeopardy. I think about my mom, I think about how she raised me, and I know, there’s no way I should go anywhere near Alex’s room.

So, I don’t move. I wait until I can feel my legs again, then I go to the bathroom and lock myself into a stall. I sit there, waiting until I’m sure Andy must be asleep. I sit there until it’s very, very late. I sit there until I can’t cry anymore. Until my eyes stop burning. Until it’s almost morning.

*

The next few days are a blur. A terrible, cloudy haze. Sometimes I feel so intensely confused, I think there must be something serious wrong with me. Other times, I almost feel normal. One thing is for sure, I have to accept reality. Failure to do so, is making me sick. I have to accept the reality of the situation. Andy is my best friend. He’s my best friend, who happens to be gay. Those are simple facts. Here are some more facts: I’m Andy’s friend. I’m his best friend. I happen to be bi, but that’s neither here nor there. Know why? Because he’s not interested. The fact that I’m me and I’m bi, makes no difference either way. None at all. It makes no difference whatsoever, because Andy is interested in guys like Alex Meeking. The total opposite of me. There’s nothing I can do about that. I have to accept it and I have to move on with my life. That’s all there is to it.

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Fertility Clinic Pt 7 Pillow Talk

I may have spoken of the much about my romantic interludes, sex play with my husband Jerry during my internship at the Fertility Clinic in my last year in college. I sighed ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ had become archaic words officially, but everyone in heterosexual relations still used those words in lieu of the official term `partner.’ In a reflective moment cuddling, “Partners,” Jerry had dismissed much modern parlance, “Sounds like something cowhands said to other guys in the old Western Movies.”

With both of us in school and working, our quest for physical intimacy tended to result in a quick, but spirited struggle, a wrestling match, Jerry called sexercises. There only precious moments for a little cuddling time which generates pillow talk. As days grew longer and time in school shortened, we suddenly found more time for each other.

“Have you thought what you’ll do after you graduate?” Jerry asked the frightening question. Up to now my hectic schedule, at school and work, gave me little time to ponder that the curtain would close on this life shortly.

My mornings began early. I was due in at the Clinic at 5:45 AM. I had to give myself extra time. On my way to the bathroom on those mornings, Jerry’s strong hand often landed on my shoulders. I’d feel the stumble of his whiskers rubbing against my neck, especially if I awoke still in my improvised PJs, worn panties and Jerry’s raggy T – shirt.

“Jerry,” I’d chide him, “Why do I know that if I find myself wearing my panties when I wake, it was good to have allowed extra time to get ready?” Wrestling me to the ground to take me from behind, Jerry quickly whipped my night clothes off. We rocked together till he came. “All too quickly,” I pouted, “even if you never make me late for work.”

On my birthday, Jerry presented me with a harem girl PJs, a flimsy cotton bra and baggy bloomers tight at the waist and midcalf ballooning out in between. “Hmm,” I inspected the present, “Sheer. They should slide off easily enough when your projectile rules your brain.”

Contrary to his rough grab and tumble style, ritualizing the extraction procedure practiced in the Fertility Clinic dominated our sex play. Jerry played the docile partner when we reenacted my experiences at work.

As much as I tried to keep my work life as an Intern at the Fertility Clinic entirely separate from my life at home, my husband Jerry’s fascination with my role in assisting the drawing of sperm from virile young men occupied not only what few moments we could spare for our table talk, but also our sex play. Lounging on our couch with Jerry in my harem girl outfit, a loose fitting, billowy PJ bottom and matching cotton bra, Jerry appeared to be more intrigued than concerned. “It’s a mechanical process,” Jerry recognized, “without an emotional attachment. Kind of like the short — arm inspection in the service.”

Joining the nursing assistants in what we dubbed ‘The Walk of Shame,’ strolling nude from the locker where we stowed our street clothes to the employees’ showers, Dr Velour, exchanging pleasantries, smiled as she watched my eyes follow her double DD boobs bouncing with her every stride. “You’re married to a male partner. Right? I meant to ask you,” Dr Velour got directly to the point, “how does your partner feel about your role in harvesting semen?”

“My husband,” I paused for emphasis before continuing the response, “Jerry regards it as a process, like drilling for oil.” I paused. “The clinic produces a yield and sells its product aloof from any personal commitment beyond professional pride in the product. The physical contact is incidental to the process, entirely impersonal without an emotional dimension.”

Snuggling with Jerry on the couch, I exclaimed, “Truth,” I paused for emphasis, “could never have been better said! How could my work in extracting sperm from a male donor be any different from operating a pump?” I shot Jerry an expression of benign innocence as I plucked his member from his boxers. “All we do is work the handle to draw fluid from the well. A pure question of hydraulics. You’re the engineering student. All that is little more than Archimedes Principles at work!” I declared.

Told of Jerry’s description of inducing an emission as an application of the principles of `sexual hydraulics,’ Dr Velour described Jerry’s reaction as objective with a bias toward structural analysis that she’d might expect from an engineering student. Pausing to think, Dr Velour remarked, “It’s good you have support at home. Some women might eh—not want to be so open with a partner. Surprisingly—men are different.”

“Jerry is so fascinated with my work at the Fertility Clinic,” I shook my head, “We reenact the procedures to draw sperm. Interaction, says Jerry, might stimulate the donor, but the purpose is impersonal to draw the product, not to administer pleasure.”

“Hmm, there is,” Dr Velour raised her penciled in eyebrows, “a slender difference between the pleasure of business,” She smiled, güvenilir bahis “and the business of pleasure, one wavering on a subtle question of purpose, intent and motivation.”

I chuckled. “Motivations, that’s my field in Industrial Psychology.”

On the couch with Jerry cuddling up in a rare precious moment, I nested my breasts into his bare hairy chest. The outline of erect nipples proudly jutted out in the soft cotton fabric of the harem girl top. Whispering provocatively, I tapped Jerry’s chest with the tip of my index finger, “two romantically motivated people putting their heads together can have more fun than one guy hitched to a post to jerk off.”

Then came the moment I dreaded. An aroused and tempted Jerry, brushing past the thin elastic band of my baggy bloomers, seized the flesh of my butt in his hand and kneaded it for a full minute before his hand reached over my hip and plunged down toward my pubes. “Slick!” Jerry’s shriek ventured into such a high octave it sounded as if I had yanked his testicles. “When did this happen? If you wanted to go bald down there, why didn’t you let me shave you?” Jerry cried.

I sighed. “Shaving is so passe,” I protested, “To avoid infections, hospitals, these days, use depilatory creams. No nicks, no cuts, no razor burns, thank god!” I exclaimed.

At the entrance to the shower, I stood with Dr Velour. Tilting her head back in a moment of reflection, Dr Velour placed a firm hand on my bare shoulder. A shot of electricity ran through my body. My breath quickened; my nipples hardened, but I was confused. Velour was a woman.

I had classified myself as a heterosexual. That’s what it said on my marriage license in the statistical section — a totally private declaration not available to the public or even to `my partner,’ but of course was available to the advertisers who loaded down our mailbox.

Dr Velour remarked, “Much of what we do here in the clinic to some outsiders may seem a semantic shuffle. It is unlawful for say a brother and sister to have sex, but a client seeking certain features might request a sister be inseminated by her brother’s sperm.”

“Hmm, perfectly legal?” I inquired.

“Yes, but what are the ethics,” Dr Velour continued the hypothetical, “of inseminating a woman with sperm from a male with whom she could not legally have sex? From the perspective of your discipline, could you prepare me an opinion of whether we should tell the sister that she’s being inseminated by her brother? Are you up to it?”

“A project of that nature would be difficult, lasting well beyond the few days I have left in school — and in this internship.” I was reminded of Jerry’s gut — wrenching question. Also, to graduate, I had finals to study for. I daringly raised the issue, “Could this project lead to a permanent job?”

With a pleasant smile, Dr Velour announced, “Perhaps, then I should consider rounding out your experience here at the clinic. I think it’s time to advance your nurse – trainees’ group to the next level, the female’s body. The female body, like the female mind, is far more complex. I’ll summon the rest of the group to meet downstairs in the theatre.”

Inside the shower, Dr Velour seemed to vanish into the misty droplets that permeated the room before it condensed in dips on the tiled wall. I guessed Dr Velour was in a hurry to accomplish some tasks before a training session. After rinsing off, I told the clerk, “I need scrubs for Dr Velour’s Nursing Assistant training.”

“Next level?” To my nod, the Clerk advised with a pleasant smile, “Congratulations, promoted to tend to females.” A disarming smile filled her face when she reminded me, “With each little step the next one becomes that much easier.”

“Now, if that leads to a full — time job after graduation …” I shook my head.

“Today,” the clerk noted as she handed me a package, “you get the Nursing Assistant’s full kit—scrubs, your very own plastic name tag, granny panties, bra and white sneakers.”

“I suppose I could attach the plastic name tag to the Shower Siren’s top — the white bikini top the girl who works the donor’s shower sports, but,” I smiled, “there’s something—a special eh — different appeal—to the nurse’s scrubs,” I remarked as I accepted the uniform. “Clothing defines the person and their role.”

On the couch with Jerry, I tried to conceal my delight over Jerry’s present of harem girl pajamas. Holding the bottoms in front of me, I tried to assume a clinical tone in my comment, “tight at the waist and ankle, puffing out in between. Thin waist band may have trouble holding the bottoms up.”

To Jerry’s smile, I shook my head. “I guess they’re not intended to stay up. But this bra,” I pulled the two ends to test it, “Cotton, no elastic, do you think this bra is sturdy enough to bind my wrists.”

Jerry responded with a devilish grin. Tilting my head, I smiled. “I guess you prefer to whip these PJs off my body to use me like a whore.” With an evil smile, I added, “I should be proud to türkçe bahis accept this gift as your candid appraisal of eh — my talents, quite a complement.”

“Clothing does add something,” Jerry quipped, “even if I don’t figure that you’ll need it all night long.”

Receiving the scrubs from the clerk reporting in after showering at the Fertility Clinic, I reflected, “Scrubs do lend an air of authority.” My comment drew a polite half smile and a nod.

Fully dressed in fresh scrubs, I walked with an air of confidence as passed by co-workers moving toward the ramp that led to the subsurface level gym, pool and theatre. Trading pleasantries, I enthusiastically declared, “class exercises today, Introduction to Female Anatomy.”

When I entered the small theatre next to Dr Velour’s office, the other nursing assistant trainees, Cassie, employed by the clinic’s gym, muscles bulging under short sleeved scrubs, Pat, the big breasted college girl, participating in an experiment at the Clinic and dark-haired Beth the oldest of the group had previously acted as a surrogate mother. All turned their heads to look when I entered, as if they had been waiting. Waiting for what? I wondered. What was up?

On stage, Dr Velour stood hand resting on a gynecological table. “Amy,” Dr Velour beckoned to me in a pleasant but officious tone, “how good of you to join us.” To her left side in a corner of the stage rested a 5′ x 5′ white privacy screen. Inviting me on the stage, Dr Velour announced, “Ladies, our study of anatomy of the female begins. Amy, would you go behind the screen, disrobe and put on a gown for us.”

I shook my head. “Why did you waste time by having me dress?” I allowed a tone of annoyance of enter my voice. “An anatomical model needs no costume.”

“The gown is optional, Amy,” Dr Velour, raising her eyebrows, snapped, “at your discretion.”

“You’re going to poke and prod,” I replied, “the gown will just be getting in the way.”

Undressing quickly behind the screen, I dismissed the fear that I was being submissive. Jerry taught me that he got over the rigors of the Marine Corps by responding enthusiastically to outrageous orders and overdoing it. “They’re trying to cow you. But, if you show you can’t be humiliated, they’ll think you’re crazy and leave you alone.”

Emerging from behind the screen, I held my arms out, “TA – DA!” The faces of the nurse — trainees fell; Even Dr Velour looked away. No one laughed. I had humiliated them. “I’ve exhibited my virtues. What’s next?” I demanded.

After a deep breath, Dr Velour recovered from her surprise. “Lesson One is prepping, but first we have an initial evaluation,” Dr Velour pointed to my hair “hair clean, skin clear, breasts symmetric, no obvious discoloration of the nipples. You’ll notice Amy has untamed pubic hair, slightly darker than her auburn hair.”

Ordered to turn around, I felt a tingle when Dr Velour laid sturdy hands on my bare shoulders and grabbed the flesh around my hips. Tickling me by running a fingernail down my spine, Dr Velour complimented me, “good posture.”

Stood on a scale on the right side of the stage, I measured in at 5 — 2 and weighed 115 pounds. I jumped when Dr Velour placed the cold steel of the stethoscope against my bare chest wall to listen to my heartbeat. With a playful, slap on my bare tush, she ordered me up on the table. I felt my fanny with great exaggeration like a chastised child.

Placing my feet in the stirrups, Dr Velour invited the other trainees on stage. “To examine the vulva, the female’s external genitalia thoroughly, there is only one way: first remove the pubic hair.” Leaning over to address me, Dr Velour asked my permission, “Is that OK with you, Amy?”

I had already decided to co-operate. “I’m willing for the cause of — science, but what do I tell my guy?” I asked in an exaggerated plaintive voice.

Momentarily stunned, Dr Velour hesitated. After a delay, she spoke, “You may tell your guy. `I was lucky,” Dr Velour took a breath, “`I wasn’t shaved. My curly mess was trimmed by an experienced person, not a trainee and the hair was vaporized by a gentle cream.”

Turning to her audience, Dr Velour discoursed, “In the course of human evolution, hairless bodies with smooth, clear skin signalled good health. Even though women are naturally less hirsute, sexual selection, ie attraction of a mate, may be the female’s hidden agenda in her preference for bare pubes. Motivations and preferences are your field, Amy.” Dr Velour threw the question back to me, “Do you have any thoughts?”

“As far as male donors,” I replied, “and female surrogates, the clinic insists that all females participating in our programs as well as male donors be shorn — With the male a clean pubic region assures that the iron jock strap fit snuggly. Also, it makes visual examination of the reproductive organs easier — for signs of infection or injuries.”

“In the outside world,” Dr Velour lectured, “some women and men remove body hair for aesthetic purposes; güvenilir bahis siteleri others for hygienic purposes; still many others as a matter of arbitrary choice. Soon, each of you will begin depilating the body hair of a patient. However, first you must watch it done. Amy, with your permission, I’m going to depilate your pubic hair.” When I deliberately hesitated, Dr Velour prodded me, “Are you ready?”

“I hear short skirts are coming back,” I replied enthusiastically, “this is free grooming.”

“First, we comb the pubes for lose hair from the external genitalia, the perineum under the vaginal orifice and the perianal skin around the anus. Pat,” Dr Velour calling the college girl forward, “You’re in the milk induction study and regularly are groomed here. Could you show Amy how it’s done?” When Pat snatched the fine – toothed comb, Dr Velour, grasping Pat’s hand to guide Pat through the tangled web over my pubic mound, pleasantly reminded her, “gently.”

Summoned to the stage, Cassie was handed a damp rag and told to clean my pubic region. “This will remove whatever loose hairs and dirt the comb did not pick up.” Beth was invited to scissor clip my bush. Beth pleasantly chattered away before she left me with stubble. “Good bedside manner,” Dr Velour complimented Beth, “Now I’ll take over and apply the cream.”

Taking a small jar of cream, “nothing works better than my own special concoction,” Dr Velour assured me. “I’m going to rub the depilatory cream into the inguinal crease, the boundary, often hairy, between the thigh and the pelvis.” The sensation was pleasant when she worked the cream into the crease massaging the outer edge of my vaginal lips in the process.

When I reacted to her circular motions rubbing the cream in an arc across my mound, by attempting to rear up my butt, struggling against the stirrups, she, in comforting almost hypnotic tones whispered, “Close your eyes. Relax. Breathe easily. Think of yourself somewhere else with your guy, except he’s doing it your way.”

Her voice — or was it some property in the cream — sent me into an altered state. I chose not to fight it. I was vaguely aware that Dr Velour was addressing the ladies, “While we wait for the depilatory cream did as instructed, we can continue to study the vulva, older texts may call the area between the legs the pudendum. In the center is the vestibule of the vaginal orifice. Superior to the vaginal vestibule is the urinary orifice and the clitoris, the analogue to the male penis, and the seat of much — eh — eh –,” she giggled, “mischief.”

I’m pretty sure she smiled as a gloved finger prodded the clitoris. “Distal to the vaginal,” Dr Velour expounded, “vestibule are the vaginal lips or labia, the fleshy folds that surround the opening the vagina. Hair can grow in the pudendal cleft the crease or crevice between the ridges of the major and minor labia. Let me work some cream there.”

My heart was palpitating as she worked the crease between the vaginal lips. “The inner lips,” Dr Velour taught, “the labia minora link up superior to the clitoris at the frenulum or prepuce and inferior to the clitoris at the glans clitoridis or clitoral hood.”

I was there, listening to the lecture, but no longer cared anymore. I was hoovering on the edge of an orgasm when Dr Velour’s nimble fingers outlines the folds around the clitoral hood. “Inferior to the vaginal vestibule are the perineum and the anal cavity,” Dr Velour addressed the trainees, “still covered in the depilatory cream.”

Reaching for a clean towel, Dr Velour, dowsing the cloth in alcohol, handed the hand cloth to Beth, muttering at low breath, “finish her off.” The lecture continued; Dr Velour droned on, “future lectures will address how the complexity of the female reproductive tracts, why the old wive’s adage `Good fucks make babies,’ has a certain validity but I, for the moment, lets concentration on the fun part where it begins at the lower end of the reproductive tract….”

The presentation continued. How long had I rested on the gynecological slab? I’m not sure. My body experienced waves of convulsions, the seismic eruptions of intense orgasms. I faded into a euphoria. As I came to, a penlight was shining in my eyes. Behind the glare, Dr Velour’s face was hoovering over me. Her fingers had pried open my eyelids.

Regaining consciousness, I found myself drenched in sweat. Still woozy, lifting my head slightly to look down at my pubes, I find them wiped clean and bare. When Dr Velour turned off her light, I looked around. The other trainees were gone but Dr Velour was ready with a hand to help me to my feet. “They’ll each get their turn,” Dr Velour assured me.

I was tempted to say that I had gotten the best part of this sexercise. Indeed, I should hope the other girls will have as much fun, but held back when I looked in her eyes. Could I read an emotion — concern or fear perhaps — off her face? Had Dr Velour expected this stimulating sex-ercise to go this far? Something would move in my favor.

Dr Velour expressed confidence that I’d come to appreciate “every facet of the significance that we covered in the lesson today,” With a sigh she mumbled, “particularly in that full time job I’ll give you when you graduate.”

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The day that Priya and Matthew were looking forward to finally arrived. Saturday was the night they would spend together at a hotel. Two hours away from home. Completely free of any risk of being caught. No sneaking around. No quickies. No time limits. No looking over their shoulder.

Just the freedom to truly enjoy, love and explore each other.

Priya had trouble concentrating on all the presentations at the conference, constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs. Squeezing her thighs together. Each presentation seemed longer than the last, until the words just became background noise in her brain. It was all she could do to respond to colleagues when addressed.

Her hair was down, but also back in a tight clip, revealing her pretty face. She wore eye-makeup, bringing out arguably her best feature. She had on a white blouse that was sheer enough that if you looked closely you could tell that she wore a white bra, and she also had on formal black pants. She had arrived in Stonestown early in the morning, and at lunch she checked into the room and threw her stuff there.

And then it was back to the conference.

***

Matthew was fighting an erection the entire drive to Stonestown. He would have made it earlier than five, but was mixed up at an exit and it wound up costing him thirty torturous minutes. He stood before Room 617 at precisely five-twenty-two pm. He knocked on the door, heart pounding with excitement. The door opened.

Like an angel from heaven, Priya stood before him. His sister-in-law. His wife’s sister. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. Priya knew it was wrong. But they couldn’t help themselves. They tried. They had tried so hard to fight it. In the end, they grew tired of fighting. The fight would have been endless because their love for each other was infinite.

She had the most beautiful smile on her face. Her hair was down, but it was also back — the sides of her hair, as well as the top, was pulled back in a ponytail while the rest of her hair flowed down behind her just past her shoulders. She wore eyeliner that brought out the most amazing eyes, and lipstick that brought out those thick, sultry lips. Her well-shaped eyebrows were raised a little as she looked up at him.

Priya had changed into a white, long-sleeved shirt that was tight around her upper body and showed just the tiniest slit of her belly. She had also changed into jeans, with white socks on her small feet. The conference ended about a half hour earlier and she didn’t realize that she would have time for a shower since Matthew ended up being a bit late. So she had hustled into more casual clothes, and figured the two of them could shower together before dinner.

Matthew’s heart was beating furiously. All he wanted in that moment was to hold this woman close and never let go.

Without a word, he stepped up to her, slipping his strong arms around her waist. If her smile could get any bigger, it did. Priya’s essence was buzzing with excitement as her lover kissed her on the lips softly. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his. His hands grabbed her ass over her jeans as he began backing her up towards the bed, his foot kicking the door shut on the way. He stepped out of his shoes as his tongue explored her mouth.

Priya was conscious of her brother-in-law’s arousal pressing against her belly through their clothes. The backs of her legs hit the bed and she broke the kiss, falling back onto it, ample bosom heaving with desire. Matthew undid his jacket and let it fall to the floor. He then crawled onto the bed between her open legs. Without a word, he kissed her again, and their tongues immediately shot into each other’s mouth. He wanted so badly to tell her how much he loved her and how much he missed her, but his lust wouldn’t let him stop kissing her long enough. They were breathing laboriously as they kissed with more passion than ever before. Her tongue was practically going down his throat. He was grinding hard against her.

Without breaking the kiss, he mercifully raised his hips. He reached between them, still rubbing his tongue along hers as his hand undid her belt and button. As his fingers pulled her zipper down, Priya’s nimble hands were working his belt. Within seconds, his button and fly were undone and she was pushing his pants and underwear downwards, freeing his stiff cock. He finally broke the kiss and the two of them were gasping for breath as he grabbed her jeans and white cotton panties and tugged them violently downwards. They slid down off her ass, revealing the black rectangle of her bush to him. She raised her legs and pulled her feet out of them one by one. He managed to pull each of her socks off of her pretty feet in one motion, subconsciously noticing that she had painted her nails for him a reddish-brown color.

Priya’s feet remained high in the air, long legs spread wide. The dark lips of her treasure were pressed tightly together, tempting. As güvenilir bahis he lay back on top of her, Priya eagerly grabbed his stiff pole in her left hand, the light from the room glistening off of her golden wedding band as she aimed that engorged manhood of his against her quivering labia.

He thrust and pierced her, three inches of his penis slipping into the hot tightness of her vagina.

“Ohhhh…” she sighed, raising her eyebrows. Her beautiful eyes remained open though, locked on his. Matthew pulled back a little and then pushed forward, this time pushing his entire organ inside her hot, slick treasure. His mouth again covered hers, kissing her passionately as he began to slide in and out of her. She immediately raised her beautiful feet even higher, increasing the wonderful sensation of her lover sliding his cock deep inside her over and over.

The room was filled with the sounds of their loud kissing, and her muffled moans soon joined those sounds.

“Mmmph! Mmmph! Mmmph! Mmmph!” Priya moaned into his mouth, an orgasm rising inside her. He was fucking her hard and frantically, as if with pent-up lust. His groin was slapping against her sensitive, defenseless slit again and again as she kept her legs wide around him. Five minutes ago she was standing in the room waiting for him to arrive and now here she was, getting pounded by an unbending cock. Her feet were flailing wildly in the air, waving back and forth as he thrust hard inside her needy body again and again. His manhood continued to pound into her relentlessly. Her ass was bouncing off the bed, forcing her to meet each of his rapid thrusts. It created a torrid, unsustainable pace. He was impacting her tingling labia and the pleasure wasn’t letting up. The tingling inside her core grew. She broke the kiss, looking up at him sweetly.

Matthew slowed, showing mercy. He looked at the way that gorgeous face was wincing with pleasure and there was no question in his mind that he was in love with her. Slowing, he looked over his shoulder. He could see her bare feet flailing behind him. She had such long, incredible legs. Was there any part of her body that he didn’t love? He turned back to her and she opened her eyes at the same time. She looked up at him. He could see the love in those eyes. She gave him the biggest smile and his heart did a flip. That smile alone nearly caused him to lose it. He sheathed himself all the way inside her heat, putting his hand on the side of her face. Those words went unspoken. They just knew.

For a moment, the two just basked in their oneness. Gasping for breath. He ground himself against her and his swollen member was pushing the very back of her treasure. The seconds ticked by. Their unbridled lust had been temporarily sated and now was the time to soak it all in.

“I love you.” Matthew said softly. Priya’s smile lit up the room. And his heart.

“I love you too.” She said, dark eyes watering. He kissed her nose softly. Then he kissed her mouth, pulling her upper lip. He kissed into her neck and she giggled.

“I want to worship you. I want to run my mouth all over you.” He muttered, briefly sucking her earlobe. Her arms and legs squeezed him briefly.

“I was thinking…” She said, panting. “Do you want to take this into the shower?”

He kissed her mouth again. “Sure.” He didn’t want to pull out of the heat that surrounded him, but he was also interested in seeing this woman naked and wet in the shower. Was there anything more appealing?

After one more kiss he slid out of her, briefly seeing the pink inside her dark treasure before the petals closed back up. Priya rolled off the bed and stood up. He watched her walk towards the bathroom, her naked ass shaking underneath that tight white shirt of hers. The white shirt made her brown skin seem darker. He watched her cheeks rise and fall with each step of her pretty feet. His organ was still completely rigid and it wobbled back and forth as he followed her in. It was a shower with a deep tub, and he stared at her bum as she bent over before him to turn it on. Standing back up, she turned around and smiled at him.

“I love you so much.” He said again, shaking his head in awe. Her smile grew even bigger, showing her teeth.

“I love you too.”

They kissed briefly. Priya then grabbed her shirt and raised it up over her head and off, revealing her gorgeous breasts straining in her white bra, shaking as she dropped the shirt. Matthew got undressed as he watched her reach behind her back and unsnap her bra. Her beautiful mounds were freed, bouncing hypnotically with the movement. Her black areolas encircled her erect nipples. As he got completely naked, she took the tie out of her hair, letting it fall loosely around her shoulders.

As one, the two went to each other, his hands slipping around her waist and grabbing onto the soft cheeks of her naked ass. Priya’s arms went around his neck and she stood up on her toes. They kissed passionately, türkçe bahis tongues darting far into each other’s mouths.

She could feel Matthew’s erection pressing against her bare belly, and just thinking about it sent shivers up her body.

He squeezed her soft cheeks, massaging her bum as he rubbed his tongue against hers. He was conscious of her breasts pressed against him as they held each other tight. His hands circled her smooth, soft ass. Getting his fingertips into her crack, he squeezed her cheeks again. As her tongue teased against his, he tasted her saliva. Her mouth gently sucked at him, and she gradually broke the kiss, panting.

“Are we going to make it to the shower?” She joked, chuckling. He laughed, letting go of her ass. She turned and stepped into the shower. He was right behind her. She got under the spray and he watched the water cascade all over his sister-in-law’s body. She turned to face him, water pouring down her magnificent breasts. She threw her soaking wet hair back and it was pressed to her head. Priya opened her eyes and smiled at him.

He kissed her on the mouth and their lips smacked loudly. He couldn’t help but kiss her a second time. He was about to kiss her a third time when she turned away, grabbed the hotel soap and ripped off the package, throwing it outside.

Priya smiled and squeezed beside him, allowing him to go into the spray. She lathered up the soap in her hands. He loved how her tits shook when she lathered that soap. He turned to face the shower and get his hair wet and he suddenly felt her hands on his back, caressing him, rubbing the soap all over his back. She placed her soapy hands on his ass caressing all over it and running her soapy fingers up his crack. He turned around, rinsing off his back as he watched her lather some more soap on her hands. He kissed her full lips as she did so. Just briefly.

She began to soap up his chest and then cleaned his arms. He watched her sink to her knees and began washing his legs. She looked incredibly hot when she was all wet like that. Her black hair was pressed to her scalp and slicked back, completely exposing her pretty face. She looked up at him and smiled. His heart nearly stopped. Soaping up her hands again, she handed him the soap. He reached behind him and put it on the little shelf. He turned and watched her cup his balls with one hand and slowly stroke his cock with the other. It was impossible for him to be any harder as his sister-in-law rubbed soap all over his penis, gently stroking him. When she was finished, he turned around and rinsed himself off.

Matthew turned back around and was surprised to see Priya still on her knees. She looked up at him, right into his eyes as she placed a hand on his shaft. She ducked underneath him a little, sucking a testicle into her mouth. Seeing this woman holding his testicle in her mouth was mind-blowing. ‘Pop!’

It popped out of her mouth and she kissed the base of his dick. She stuck out her tongue – gawd he loved that tongue. She slowly licked up his freshly cleaned shaft. When her tongue reached the top, she pursed her lips and softly kissed his mushroom head. He watched her full lips open up and slowly absorb his member inside. Those lips slowly sunk down his manhood until he felt his penis hit the back of her throat. Her lips were not quite at the base and she held him there, looking up at him. Such a pretty face holding his cock in her mouth…

She stopped looking into his eyes and focused on the task at hand, closing her eyes as she began to bob her mouth back and forth along his rod. The shower continued to spray onto his back as he watched Priya eagerly suck his erection.

‘Slurp! Slurp! Slurp! Slurp!’ the sucking noises could be heard over the sounds of the shower. He could see all of her beautiful face as it made his dick disappear over and over again. She pulled it out of her mouth and began kissing all over it again, before sticking it right back in her warm mouth and getting back to work. Her mouth glided up and down his pole smoothly, as if she was an expert of twenty years at this instead of just a couple months. ‘Pop!’ she took him out of her mouth and stood up before him.

He slid his arms around her, his hands locking onto the wet skin of her ass as he kissed her. Matthew squeezed Priya’s globes as he felt her tongue slip into his mouth. He sucked on her long tongue as they kissed passionately. Squeezing her bum, he slowly spun them around so that her back was in the shower. He broke the kiss and she turned around so that her front was again rinsing off in the shower. He reached over her and grabbed the soap, lathering it up in his hands as he stared at her beautiful naked bum. Priya.

He began rubbing soap on the soft skin of her back. He rubbed it all over her cheeks, getting lather on each cheek before rubbing the soap once again to get more lather. She continued to stand passively before him as he ran his hand up and down the güvenilir bahis siteleri crack of her ass — Priya’s ass. He could clearly feel her tiny asshole as his fingers brushed up and down it.

She turned around, smiling and showing her teeth as he lathered more soap in his hands. He sunk to his knees and began running his hands with the soap down one leg, starting at her soft thigh just beside her crotch, down over her knee to her calf. She raised her foot and Matthew rubbed his soap hand all over it. She raised her other one and he rubbed that one. He loved her cute little feet. He caressed back up her long leg to her upper thigh, his hands stroking dangerously close to her defenseless labia before standing back up again. He lathered the soap in his hands one last time and then handed it to her. She placed it back on the shelf before turning back to him. Again she wore her beautiful smile.

He placed his hands on Priya’s two gorgeous wet breasts, caressing over the soft skin and the hard nipples. He rubbed soap all over her skin. She raised her arms and he rubbed soap on her cleanly shaven armpits. Matthew went back over her tits and down her soft belly to her bush. Running his soapy fingers through the curls of her black pubic hair, he felt her slit. Cupping her crotch, he teased his soaping fingers back and forth over her slick petals. He cleaned all over and around her pussy as she began to subtly grind her crotch against his hand, giving him a mischievous smile that again flashed those teeth.

She turned around and rinsed the front of her amazing body off as he stared at her wet ass. When she turned back, Matthew grabbed her and pulled her to him, lips finding hers. She smiled as she kissed him, chuckling a little as well.

He spun her around so that his back was to the shower spray and he pressed her against the back wall of the shower, his tongue going deep into her mouth. He broke the kiss and kissed over her soft cheek to her ear. His rigid shaft was pressing against her bush. He kissed and sucked her earlobe, sending tingles of desire through her.

“I love every inch of you.” He whispered in her ear. “I want to kiss every inch of you.”

Priya’s heart soared at his words.

“Please do!” she said, smiling. She chuckled. She was at her happiest when she was with this man. She closed her eyes and caressed the back of his head when she felt his lips trail down her neck.

He kissed down her chest to her cleavage. He kissed back and forth between her tits, cherishing every touch of his lips to her skin. He kissed the underside of her breast and then slowly circled his tongue around her dark areola. He briefly sucked Priya’s nipple into his mouth before releasing it and kissing down her cleavage to her other breast. He was conscious of her hand stroking his wet hair as he licked the underside of her other mound. Grabbing that breast in one hand, he gently squeezed it as he ran his tongue around her dark areola. As he sucked her erect nipple into his mouth, his other hand cupped her treasure, slowly running the tip of his middle finger back and forth along her wet slit.

“Ohhhh…” she moaned above him as bolts of pleasure shot up her body. She had to have him back inside her.

Matthew began kissing down Priya’s soft, smooth, wet belly, running his lips over her beautiful skin. The tingling in her pussy increased as he kissed closer and closer to it. He kissed the wet fur of her bush. He could smell her intoxicating scent, even though he had just cleaned her there. He teased her, kissing the insides of each of her thighs.

As he kissed down her leg inch-by-inch, she raised her pretty foot and placed it on the side of the tub. He could now clearly see the swollen lips of her pussy as he kissed over her knee and down her calf. He got down to her ankle and kissed over top of her foot.

Priya could not help but smile — this is why she painted her toenails. Bracing herself against the back of the shower, she raised her foot in the air so he could hold it. He kissed each of her toes, starting with the big one and working his way to the small one. He then worked his way back, kissing every inch of the top of her toes and foot. He raised it a little higher and kissed the bottom of her foot a few times before finally sucking her big toe into his mouth. He pulled it out of his mouth and then sucked her three biggest toes into his mouth. Through it all, she looked down at her true love – her forbidden love – and smiled.

He released Priya’s foot and she raised her other one expectantly. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to kiss every inch of her. Priya curled her toes and he sucked two of them into his mouth briefly. He then kissed all over her instep and over the top of the bare foot. He then began kissing over her ankle and up the inside of her other leg. He kissed the inside of her thigh as she placed her foot back on the edge of the tub.

Matthew kissed closer and closer to his dream pussy. He was unable to duck low enough underneath her, but he could see it there. Its swollen dark labia pressed tightly together, surrounded by black curls of wet pubic hair. He kissed the top of her slit, right on her clit.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

You are relaxing in the pool the first day after we arrive in the Maldives. It is a part of a week-long trip I invited you on to start your summer vacation after my last book made its first big sale. I am just waking up and I walk out to see you in a pair of shorts. I lean down and kiss your forehead.

Me: Why are you so beautiful?

You: Why are you always buttering me up.

I laugh and slide in the pool beside you.

Me: Because you my best friend and I love you.

You: Really and do you eat all your friend’s pussies from the back?

Me: No but you my best friend.

I lean over and give you a soft kiss on the neck.

You: Oh I am so honored to be your beeeeeeeest friend.

You giggle before you turn your head and kiss me. We keep kissing and soon you are in my lap. After our first time, we decided not to stop. Since we live hours away it’s not regular but when we get together the passion comes easy. We break the kiss and you look into my eyes.

You: Why do you look so smug?

Me: I finally got you after how many years? I mean it’s a weird relationship but at the same time, I don’t love you any less.

You: Ugh, tell me about it.

You get out of the pool and grab your towel. You offer me a hand and I climb out behind you. You lead me into the house and I help you out of your bathing suit. You are heading to the shower but I start to kiss your neck.

You: Lol, stop it I need to get this salt off me before it dries my skin.

Me: I’ll get it off you slow way.

I lick your shoulder and you laugh. You slap my head.

You: Stop it nasty. Order food I’ll be out in a bit.

I keep holding you and you look up and kiss me.

Me: güvenilir bahis siteleri Better.

I let you go and you go into the bathroom to clean yourself off while I order food.

You finish putting on lotion after your shower and come out in panties and a robe. You find me sitting by the window sipping juice and a spread of food waiting.

You: Dork. Who the fuck going to eat all this?

Me: Lol, you and me duh.

You: You always complaining about not eating as much as you use to.

Me: You except at least two rounds a day. Lol, I gotta keep the energy.

You laugh and sit down.

You: You cheat and use toys when you can’t get it up.

Me: The goal is orgasms. All is fair in love and war.

We eat and talk. By the time we are done, you are wiped. You are taking a nap in the bed when you feel something very nice on your pussy. You open your eyes and find me between your legs. You let out a moan as my tongue works your pussy nice and slow like I am trying to slowly tease out the building orgasm.

You: Fuck, baby I thought I was dreaming…ahhh…faster, please.

I speed up just a little but it is enough to drive you over the edge. You grip my head and push me deeper as you come into my mouth.

You: Ohhhhh fuck.

I keep eating and you laugh and bite your lip.

You: I hate you. Yes, fuck don’t you stop.

I eat you to four more orgasms before you shove me away. Your whole body is shaking and I crawl up and kiss you letting you taste your pussy on my lips.

Me: I was just getting warmer up.

You: Shut up you fucking devil. I was having a good dream and you weren’t in it.

You poke out your mobilbahis tongue and I push mine into your mouth. We keep kissing and I slide between your legs. You moan into my mouth when you feel me slide inside you.

Me: Damn you feel amazing.

The sounds of the wave are coming through the window to mix with our moans and grunts of pleasure as our bodies remember each other and our natural rhythm begins to build. After fifteen minutes and several orgasms, we are changing up the tone. I put you on all fours and slide my dick back in slowly. I grip your hips and We resume our pace immediately. I watch as your ass giggles from each impact.

You: You are the absolute worst. Oh shit yes right there. Fuck. Right there!

Your ass jiggles as you cum on my dick once again.

Me: I know mama. You take this dick like a demon.

I keep going until we are both dripping sweat and I am still hard. You are throwing it back with complete abandon and driving yourself to yet more orgasms you pull off after the last one and pound the bed with your fist.

You. Damn it Leek. I can’t lie I love you and the way you fuck me. Fuuuuuuuck my pussy is numb.

I smile and lean in and spread your cheeks. Before you can even say a word my tongue finds your pretty asshole.

You. What…ohhhhhhh my God

I start to eat your ass with just as much enjoyment as I eat your throbbing pussy. I push my tongue past your tight hole and begin to tongue fuck your ass. You grip the sheets as you moan to the unexpected but very welcome pleasure. You don’t notice when I pull out the small bottle of heating lube. I apply some to my fingers and lean back removing my tongue. I replace it with bahis siteleri my finger slowly apply the lube to the outside. It heats up with makes you jump.

You. What the fuck is that?

Me. Heating lube. It makes your hole open and close involuntarily.

You. Damn it, Dork don’t be testing shit on me.

I laugh and slowly push one finger into your spasming asshole. You jump and scream at the sensation. I slowly apply normal lube as I finger fuck you. Soon I have two fingers inside you and I watch as your body accepts them both and listen to your moans of pleasure.

Me: Are you ready Ne?

You take a few moments as you think over the question knowing what I am planning.

You: Be gentle.

I sit up and pull out my fingers to replace them with my now lubed dick. I hold your hips with one hand and my dick with the other. I begin to push and you scream into the pillow as my dick head moves past your outer ring. I feed inch after inch into your tight asshole until I am buried up to the hilt.

Me. You ok boo?

You are still gripping the sheets and moaning as you get used to me inside your ass. I wait still until you manage to give me a thumbs up. You keep your head buried as I slowly begin to fuck your ass. Each stroke makes you moan as you feel each one in your stomach literally. It takes about five minutes for me to find an even pace and when I do I begin to fuck your ass for real. You have your head up now and you are screaming through the whole mind-numbing process. It is driving me wild and I feel my balls tighten.

Me. Oh fuck I am going to…

I let out a roar as I unload deep into your asshole and you cum so hard you fly off my dick. I fall backward out of the bed and hit the floor. We both lay there sweating well fucked heaps. I make it back into the bed and fall face first beside you. I get one arm around you before we are both fast asleep with the cool ocean breeze drifting in through the window.

The end

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Standing with Mrs. Rauschenberg in front of the supermarket shelf, I was looking at a problem. With my background, I could have explained it to her in terms of supply and demand, the pricing aspects, and uncertainty factors, but it might have put her to sleep, or more likely, caused her to use her handbag on me.

She’d already threatened the latter so I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. “Sorry, ma’am, but we’re all out.”

“Well, is there any more in the back?” she demanded as she stared at the empty slot on the shelf. “I just need one jar, young man. Can you stop just standing there like an idiot and go check?”

“Uhh…I’m sorry, ma’am,” I replied, still surprised at her demeanor. Mrs. Rauschenberg was a rather severe-looking lady—somewhere between 70 and 80, I guessed—and not known for having a sunny disposition, but in our few interactions, she’d never before been threatening or insulting. “I’ve already checked; there’s not a single jar in the store.”

Mrs. Rauschenberg huffed in frustration. “I buy it here every Christmas and you’ve always got plenty. So what’s different this year? It’s you, isn’t it. I don’t remember you from before a few months ago. You didn’t bother to order any, did you?”

I shook my head, wishing I could tell her what I really thought of her outburst. Instead, I held my tongue and said, “Ma’am, I’m just a stocker, a grocery clerk. I’m not in charge of ordering so I have no idea why we’re out. Like you said, though, I’ve only been here for a few months and I’ve never seen us run out of it before.”

She frowned at me. “Phhfff. Likely story. And no idea, eh? That just shows what happens when a man your age doesn’t get a good education or have any drive and ambition. He ends up as a lowly stock boy at a fucking supermarket instead of doing something important with his life.”

She added a few more demeaning curses and stomped off, a real feat for someone her age, leaving me to sigh again in frustration as I failed in my attempt to keep from wishing bad things on her. Her insult hurt, for I had all of what she’d accused me of lacking except for the good job at the moment.

Thinking about that and my upcoming birthday, I wished, once again, that I was somewhere else, far, far away.

***

It had started a little over eight months before when Monte Wiederhoff asked me to stay for a moment after a meeting in his office with the company’s senior execs.

Monte had taken over Pelton Wiederhoff almost two years before following the passing of his elderly father, Montgomery, Senior, a great leader who’d actually died at his desk at nearly 85. Unfortunately, his son was cut from a different cloth, and the firm just hadn’t been the same since. As the private company’s chief financial officer, I’d done my best to help keep it on track despite Monte’s apparent rudderlessness at the helm.

“Clark, thanks for staying. Tell me, where do you see our firm headed in the next two years?”

While Monte had the title, I’d been making most of the major decisions for the firm since Montgomery’s death, with Monte usually giving a nod, often without a thought. I paused for a few moments, fighting the desire to keep from asking why, like in so many cases before, he hadn’t read my report that answered that in considerable detail.

Or maybe, just maybe, he had and wanted a personal explanation of the changes needed.

I took that tact.

“Well, sir, we’re in very good condition at the moment, but with the economic turndown combined with some issues here, I see the potential for trouble ahead in the next six to twelve months, with very serious downside over the next 24 months if we aren’t more proactive in the near term. Our supply chain has been really affected—did you ever get to read the report I gave you a few weeks ago?”

I’d asked him at least four times already and had, to date, always received the same response. The report answered his question and detailed specific recommendations for helping us avoid most of the likely problems. “If so, we can focus on the parts that may be confusing if you’d like rather than going through the whole thing.”

“Uh, not yet,” he replied, making it five for five. “That’s okay, though. We don’t need to get into the nitty gritty. From what you’ve said, it sounds like I’ve timed it just right. Clark, don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been in negotiations with another firm for the past couple of months. I didn’t read your report so I wouldn’t have to answer any questions about it if they asked. Delete all copies from the server and backups, and shred any hard copies you might have printed.”

He smiled as he added, “We sign the paperwork tomorrow and they’ll be taking over on Monday.” He was still looking pleased with himself as he looked out the window, even as my world came crashing down around me.

“But, Monte—”

He held up his hand sharply as he looked around at me with a strange expression. “Yeah, it becomes their problem on Monday and we won’t have to worry about it. Oh, and remember, like I said, you can’t illegal bahis tell anyone about this. Any of it.”

And just like that, Monte Wiederhoff, just a few years older than me, was set for life as he ruined mine, with me and the rest of the top management of Pelton Wiederhoff becoming surplus staff while he walked away with millions. The new boss showed up on Monday morning and our senior leadership team was escorted out of the building well before the end of the day.

Despite having an undergrad degree in economics from Princeton, an MBA from Wharton, and almost 26 years of experience using them, suitable jobs were in short supply due to the economic downturn, which worsened about that time. My marriage, which had long been on the rocks, went down the tubes just weeks later, too, and I found myself in the basement efficiency owned by Mrs. Edna Katchekamp, an elderly woman who lived a short distance from my former home. It was tiny but relatively cheap with utilities and wifi included.

After a long and grueling job search, I landed a great new position, but due to the company’s contracts and the retirement date of the person I’d be replacing, it didn’t start until the end of January. Despite my request, they couldn’t take me on early, even at a reduced rate.

Unfortunately, all that made it even more difficult to find something that would pay my bills and offer health insurance to cover the interim. With bills, spousal support, and college payments due, I was forced to take the only near-term job offering I had that offered medical insurance: full-time as a stock clerk at the local supermarket. With that and a bit of part-time work from local accountants, I figured I’d be able to make ends meet until my new job started.

***

So, four nights before Christmas, it seemed that Mrs. Rauschenberg and practically half of the rest of the customers in the grocery store were looking for it. With people baking and cooking for the big day, I was restocking shelves like crazy on Aisle 9, the baking goods section, and had already answered the same question at least a dozen times. Each such customer was disappointed to learn that there wasn’t a single jar of it in the entire store.

Some, like Mrs.Rauschenberg, asked if I could check the storeroom to see if there wasn’t just one more jar hiding back there, and a couple of people even asked if I could call one of our sister stores to see if they had any in stock. I sent the last two to the front desk for assistance and never heard the outcome. While they may have said it in different ways, they all claimed that they really needed it.

What, you ask, was sought after with such fervor, was wanted with such great desire that it caused a shortage?

Molasses, known in some parts as black treacle, that dark syrup obtained from refining sugar cane or sugar beets into sugar.

Molasses?

What?

Why?

Good question, and, having only worked in the store for a few months, I didn’t have a clue to the answer. Therefore, I walked toward the front of the store, determined to find out.

I knew from my restocking work over the past four months that molasses would sit on the shelf for weeks or even months without needing to be restocked. Oh, a jar would disappear periodically, sold to some gray-haired lady or another, but for the most part, it was rare for more than two or three jars to be sold per month.

Then suddenly, just days before Christmas, there’s practically a stampede for the damn stuff, which gets us back to the question: why?

“Excuse me, Mr. Manetti, do you have a moment, sir?”

“Sure, Clark, what’s up?” asked our store manager.

“Molasses, sir. There’s a run on them. Do you have any idea why?”

“Oh shit! I forgot!” he exclaimed, looking genuinely upset with himself. He wore a pained expression for a few moments while he chastised himself inwardly before retaking control and turning back to me.

“Clark, molasses are used in some cakes, pies, and other recipes, but the biggest use at Christmas time is probably in gingerbread for cookies and houses. I always order a few extra cases on December 1st, but it slipped my mind this year. How’s our supply holding out?”

“Gone, sir. We’re out.”

“Fuck!” he said, completely losing his usual cool, but then looking around, almost in panic that a customer or one of his senior managers might have heard him. Leaning close to me, he whispered, “Every blue-hair in the store is going to be upset now and the backstabbers will have it in for me. This needs to be our little secret, understood?”

I was trying to keep from smiling as his quiet little conspiracy unfolded. “I’m going to my office now to see if I can still get a case on tomorrow’s truck. You keep stocking and, if anyone asks, you tell them we should be receiving some from the warehouse any time. Got that? Any time! And not a word!”

“Yes, sir,” I said as I walked away, wondering if Mr. Manetti and Monte Wiederhoff might be relatives.

***

The number of people asking for molasses illegal bahis siteleri continued to climb as the evening progressed, with the male customers, few of whom would be doing the actual cookie making, being even more upset than the women since each would be disappointing his wife or significant other who was looking forward to making their own little army of gingerbread men or village of gingerbread houses.

A couple of them hinted that their evening’s extracurricular activities would be sadly lacking if they failed to deliver. I felt sorry for them in a way, but considering my months without sex following several years of practically no affection from Greta, my ex, I didn’t dwell on their misfortune too much since I had more than enough of my own.

In addition, Keith Donaldson, the evening manager, walked by Mr. Manetti’s office several times, trying to figure out why the store manager would be staying so late. Mr. Donaldson was rumored among the staff to be after Mr. Manetti’s job, so I suspected that he was Brutus No. 1 in Mr. Manetti’s eyes. I made it a point to avoid running into him; if we didn’t talk, I wouldn’t have to answer any potentially uncomfortable questions. By doing so, the evening passed, and the light went out in Mr. Manetti’s office around 8:30 PM.

However, it was just after 11 PM, only about an hour before my shift ended, when things changed.

A drop-dead gorgeous woman in her early to mid-forties went beyond disappointment when I told her that there weren’t any molasses available. With the baking aisle finally deserted except for the two of us, she stepped in close to me and touched my nametag with an almost loving caress before sweeping her long blonde hair behind her shoulders and unzipping her jacket.

This gave me a spectacular view of her impressive breasts barely contained in a lace bra under a sheer white shirt. The bra wasn’t padded, making her erect nipples be displayed quite prominently through the thin fabrics. With the shirt unbuttoned down to her sternum, those sizable and quite delectable mounds did a wonderful job casting a shadow into the Great Valley of Cleavage between them.

In a rather deep, sultry voice, she whispered, “Clark, you’re a rather good-looking guy; I’ll make it well worth your while if you’ll go back to the stockroom and find me a jar. Just one, Clark, just one little jar is all I need.”

My heart was in my throat as this beautiful woman, with her jacket opened wide, swayed slightly, brushing the projecting tip of one breast and then the other against the stocker apron that covered my chest. My blood raced and I felt myself swelling in response, but I quickly tried to force myself to relax, focusing on her eyes rather than her wondrous display.

“Ma’am, ahem, I’m so sorry, but we really are completely out at the moment,” I told her in a low voice that almost quivered. “You could be offering me the moon and the stars and I still wouldn’t be able to help you tonight. There’s a possibility we might get a new shipment tomorrow or the next day but—.”

“Well, the moon might come out to play and I might help you see stars if a jar turns up,” she whispered with a smile, running her fingers up the front of my apron at my crotch level, just brushing my hardening member. Pulling away, she handed me her card as if drawn out of the air. “My number’s on the bottom. If you get some in, give me a call, Clark, and we’ll draw straws for who’s on bottom—or top?—first to celebrate.” Seeing my obvious discomfort, she touched two fingers to her lips before touching them to my cheek.

I must have looked like the proverbial deer in the deadlights at that point for it was the first time I’d been seemingly propositioned in my few months working at the grocery store. I tucked that card away in my wallet so she could see I wasn’t losing it, but my face reddened when I saw her staring at the foil wrapper I’d recently started carrying in it.

It was an amused little smile that crossed her face before she added, “If you find that jar, you might want to think about picking up a few more of those. Ciao.”

Her eyebrow went up suggestively, and then, with her jacket rezipped as if by magic, she turned and walked away. Wearing high heels and tight jeans with her butt cheeks doing a dance of their own below her jacket as she walked, I could only return her stare of moments earlier.

“Holy shit!” I breathed at barely a whisper. “Please, God, please! Send molasses on that truck tomorrow!”

***

Perhaps God had my best interests at heart, saving me from either embarrassment at the great joke she’d just played on me or possibly death by fucking if she was actually serious, for the truck arrived the next day with nary a jar of molasses. Or maybe He was punishing me for my devilish thoughts of the evening before.

Whatever the case, Mr. Manetti spent part of his day locked in the office away from our customers while trying his best to get us a crate of molasses. During that time, I kept dealing with customer inquiries into what canlı bahis siteleri some store employees were now jokingly calling the Great Molasses Shortage.

Following my discussion with, according to her card, one Madeline Rector, she of the beautiful blonde hair, superb tits, and incredible ass of the evening before, I gave it a lot of thought. Perhaps, if we were to get a new shipment, I could have an enjoyable time with Madeline. Maybe I could even use the promise of jars of that much desired treat to improve my love life.

Growing up, I was always a nerd. I was extremely smart but even more uncool, with few friends and, in high school, fewer dates. Mathematics made sense to me, but people didn’t, so I gravitated toward accounting. The problem with that is that numbers in accounting have to do with people, so I was eventually forced to deal with my issues, at least to some extent. I still had few close friends, but it got to the point where dealing with normal acquaintances and coworkers no longer felt like nails on a chalkboard.

One way I dealt with my issue was serving as a math tutor in college and grad school. The joy of seeing the light come on in another’s eyes as they learned some previously elusive concept made me want to help them, and I think some of the girls eventually felt similarly about me. As a result, I had sometimes, strictly at their suggestion, accepted payment in kind rather than cash from a few of these friendly young nymphomaniacs. I’d never been naturally comfortable around girls so between the tutoring, those encounters, and a couple of girlfriends who were as socially awkward as me, my higher education had opened my eyes to new perspectives, desires, and opportunities.

Now being older and somewhat more certain with regards to the moral aspects, I would never trade molasses directly for sex, but by offering to help them, I’d be getting names and phone numbers for the start of what might be a little black book to help with new opportunities over time. If I helped a woman get what she needed, perhaps I’d make a new friend that I could call a short time later? What if that call led to a date? What if that date led to sex or maybe even, in the long run, more?

Yes, it was admittedly a long shot, but given the possibilities and my long drought, maybe I could leverage the lack of molasses into something beneficial. In the end, I came up with a plan and a new method of dealing with customers looking for a jar.

“No,” I told the men and most of the women. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a single jar in the store. It’s possible we might receive some tomorrow or Christmas Eve.” To the men, I added, “but I’m not counting on it. You might try some of our other local stores.” For the women, I offered a bit more hope, encouraging them to check again, but this was primarily because females, particularly in relationships, tend to shop and spend much more on groceries than men.

For women that attracted me in some manner or another, I used a different tactic I learned from my encounter with Madeline. “No, ma’am,” I’d say, “we’re out at the moment but there’s a really good chance we’ll get some on the truck tomorrow or possibly Christmas Eve. If you’ll just leave me your name and number, I’ll be glad to give you a call to let you know if any comes in.”

By doing this, I’d collected the names and telephone numbers of six women plus the delectable Madeline’s before the end of my shift on December 22nd. That’s not a lot, but considering I didn’t even have a little black book to write them in, it was a start. In fact, in my current state, I’d have taken any of them to bed…or to a private corner in the stockroom, if such a place actually existed. No, I knew I wouldn’t be directly trading molasses for sex, but I had obtained valuable information that I might use over time when my circumstances were improved after my new job started and I had a real place again.

With those thoughts in mind, I took my cart to the storeroom as the loudspeaker was asking people to make their final purchases since the store was closing in five minutes. On my way out, I was walking back down Aisle 9 to make sure I hadn’t left anything out of place or any cardboard on the shelves when I saw her looking at the open slot on the bottom shelf where, at most any other time of year, jars of molasses would be gathering dust.

“Excuse me, miss? Can I help you?” I asked.

She turned to me with a pout-like expression on her face that immediately turned to a warm smile when she saw me. “Hi! Thank you! I’m looking for molasses, but I don’t see any on the shelf. Do you have any elsewhere or in the back?”

She wasn’t a walking sexpot like Madeline or maybe even as pretty as some of the other women whose names were currently in my wallet. Wearing nurses’ scrubs, she looked quite tired and wasn’t wearing makeup, but she had a pretty face and was actually what I would have considered my “type” before I met Greta. She stood about five or maybe six inches over 5-feet tall, was well built, and had reddish-blonde hair that hung a bit below her shoulders. She appeared to be in her mid to late 20s, and had the body of someone who runs or exercises regularly. Most of all, it was her bright, friendly smile and those pleading blue eyes that melted my heart.

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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Bowling for Babes. I’ve heard rumors and stories about them for years, mostly from testosterone-infected men. The stories they tell are wildly exaggerated and impossible to believe. I thought they were just strutting in front of the rest of us to impress someone, mostly themselves. What they’ve claimed is outrageous and preposterous. I don’t believe them and neither should you.

At least I didn’t.

I’m an all American male. I’m thirty-eight years old. I have a high-school education and I work in construction. I have since I was sixteen. I drive my pickup truck to work every day.

I’m married with two children. Both are in public schools. My wife works part time for pocket money. I pay the bills. We live in flyover country and we go to a Lutheran church every Sunday.

We live in a housing development in a small town. We vote in every election, even for mayor and school board. I have three guns in the house. Two handguns, one for me and one for my wife, and a hunting rifle. All are safely locked when not in use.

Most of the people in our area are the same as we are. Solid citizens, believers in the Constitution and overlooked by the politicians from the coasts, and that’s fine by us. Most of us served in some branch of the military and prioritize our lives, God, Country and Family in that order.

We have simple American names. Mine is Sam and my wife is Rebecca, her mother loved Cheers and named her after Kirstie Alley’s character. I’m slightly overweight, a little round in the middle. My doctor would probably describe me as overweight but not obese. Construction work keeps me in reasonable shape. Rebecca watches what she eats. She’s not slender but she’s far from overweight. She has a few extra pounds, all in the right places from where I sit.

My wife is a babe, hotter than most of the other local women. She doesn’t cheat and doesn’t ask if I do. We’ve have an agreement that an occasional extra cock or pussy might add to our sex life but, to my knowledge, neither of us has exercised the option.

We live simply. Rebecca keeps busy with the children and the neighborhood book and garden clubs and I work, play softball in the warm seasons and bowl during the winter.

Softball is an excuse to drink beer. The bowling league is competitive. Bowling is an excuse to drink beer and test our manhood. We bowl every Tuesday evening at seven o’clock. We have sixteen teams in two divisions and command half of the alleys in the local thirty-two lane establishment every Tuesday during the season

. We all have our own equipment and the bar at the alley provides all the beer and pretzels we need.

Each team consists of four to six players and four of them represent the team each week. There are a few good bowlers but most of us suck at it and that’s what makes the league competitive. There are no women in the bowling league.

Our team name is the Blues. We have matching blue shirts that we wear each week. There are six of us and none of us is happy with the team name but all the good names, like Strikers, Splitters and Alley Cats were already taken.

We never bowl without an audience. The bar does a brisk business on Tuesday nights. Mostly single or divorced women scouting the players interested further competition at the end of the evening. I generally don’t pay them much attention. I’ve always thought I have enough on my plate without female complications.

That is, until recently. For the last three weeks, the same woman has been sitting behind our team, watching us bowl and cheering for us. Last week she began to get our beer and pretzels from the bar for us. This week she waved at Jason and me when we were finished and packing our stuff to leave. It was clear that she wanted to talk to us. We lagged behind the others and she came down into the pit to talk.

She introduced herself as Rosie. She was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, above average looking with minimal makeup, bottle blonde hair, green eyes, puffy lips and tits out to here. She was effusive about how competitive we were and how competitive men made her tingle.

I looked at Jason and gave him my look that said, “She’s looking for someone to tickle her tingle.”

Jason is younger than I am and single, so tingle tickling was in his wheelhouse and Rosie had some appeal. On the other hand, I was ready to go home.

Rosie put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t hurry off. I get it. You probably think I’m just another bimbo looking to get laid and I’ve zeroed in on you two tonight. To be honest, some of that is right. I do love to fuck but I’m not easy.”

“That’s not how I see it,” I said.

“Understandable. Remember how I said I love competitive men. Well, I don’t give it away. I like to be competed for. I like to be the prize. You and your friend here appear to be equally matched. Both of you need bowling lessons. I propose a match with me as the prize. I’ll even offer incentives along the way. What about it?”

“What kind of incentives?” asked Jason always güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri negotiating. I hung around for the answer.

“Okay,” Rosie responded. “How about you bowl and line and I offer something for achievement? For example, for each spare, I might offer a kiss.”

“What’s offered for a strike?” asked Jason.

I could see he was buying in to the woman’s spiel. I told myself I wasn’t going to but I hung around in case he needed me.

“For a strike, I might let you squeeze my tits. For two strikes in a row, you can rub my pussy. For three in a row, I’ll give you a blowjob and for four or more, you can fuck me.”

“So, I bowl a game,” Jason clarified, “and I collect each of your incentives along the way?”

“You got it, sailor,” Rosie said.

“Here?” asked Jason looking around at the large space with people still bowling and sitting at the bar.

“Close,” answered Rosie. “You see that door in the wall at the end of the building? Well, there’s two more lanes on the other side. Very private.”

“You know, that with those kinds of incentives, my game might improve dramatically,” Jason wished.

“I hope so,” responded Rosie. She looked at me. “You coming too?” she asked.

“Two’s company,” I said.

“I can help with that,” Rosie said. “See that gorgeous woman at the bar?” she asked.

I looked at the bar. I noticed a woman wearing a tight sweater, yoga pants and long dark hair halfway down her back. She waved.

“That’s Liz. She loves competitive men as much as I do and she knows the rules. If you both want to play, I’ll ask Liz to join us. You can compete for either of us or both of us, if you wish,” added Rosie.

I was weakening. I wondered how much better my game might get with the proper incentives.

“Okay,” I said, surprising myself.

“Great,” said Rosie. She gave Liz a thumbs up. “There is one other thing though,” she said. “It costs more to bowl on the other side of the wall.”

“How much?” asked Jason.

“Ten dollars a line,” said Rosie.

“That’s pretty stiff,” commented Jason.

“Nothing’s free, even incentives and stiff is what we’re hoping for.”

“Okay,” said Jason.

Rosie looked at me and I nodded. She started for the doorway at the end of the alley. Jason followed her and Liz got off the bar stool and headed the same way.

“I’ll be right with you,” I said.

“Knock on the door,” said Rosie. “It’s locked.”

I took my gear out to my truck and called Rebecca.

“Honey, I said. “I’m going to be a little late tonight.”

“Is there a problem?” Rebecca asked.

“Nothing serious,” I said. “My truck won’t start.”

“Can’t one of the fellows give you a jump?”

“When I got out here, most of them were gone. I’ve called triple A and I’ll wait for them. I might be able to get a jump in the meantime. Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting. Good luck.”

I took my gear back inside, walked toward the door, stopped to pee along the way and knocked.

Liz opened the door. Her smile was an incentive all by itself. She closed and locked the door. Inside, the narrow room were two bowling lanes identical to those outside. The lights were dimmer and the seating around the pit was wider, sofa like and significantly more padded than in the rest of the building.

“You both want to play?” asked Rosie.

We both nodded. “Then I need a Hamilton from each of you.”

Neither of us had a ten. Jason dropped a twenty in the box Rosie was holding for both of us.

“Looks like we’re ready to play. I’ll tell you what. Since you’re both such nice guys, we’ll double the prizes. For each achievement, you get to do it twice, once with me and once with Liz.”

“Both of you?” asked Jason.

“Yep. You get to kiss both of us or squeeze both of our tits and more.”

Jason was visibly eager to get started.

“Who’s first?” asked Rosie.

Jason already had his ball in his hands. He stepped up to the right hand lane. I watched as he tried to settle himself and focus on the pins and not the incentives. He took his usual three-step approach and let the ball go. It curled slightly at the finish and struck in the one-three pocket. Perfect, except the four and seven pins didn’t agree. With his second shot, he struck the four pin light on the right. I bounced off the sidewall and took out the seven pin. Spare!

“Goodie,” said Rosie. “A quick start.” She moved up to Jason, took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his lips. I watched Rosie’s tongue prod Jason’s lips until he opened his mouth and their tongues danced together. When Rosie was finished, Jason was breathless. Before he could get a deep breath, Liz was holding his face and kissing him. He opened his mouth immediately and Liz did her best to outdo Rosie.

When Liz moved away, Jason was glassy eyed and smiling happily.

Rosie looked at me. “You get the next two frames,” she said.

I picked up my ball and moved to the left lane. güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri I took a couple of deep breaths, focused on the pins, took three steps and rolled my ball. It looked perfect all the way. I connected in the one-three pocket and pins flew everywhere. When everything settled, I was staring at a lone five pin. A ridiculous leave and an easy spare. Only I missed it.

Rosie looked disappointed.”

I moved to the right lane and tried again. The same roll, the same pocket impact and a clear deck. Strike!

“Oooh,” said Rosie. “Serious bowling.” She walked up to me on the approach, and took off her sweater and then her bra. Her breasts were oversized, pale with bronze areola and darker nipples.

I guess my reaction was obvious.

“Baby,” Rosie said, “you didn’t want to squeeze my tits through my clothes, did you?”

She took my hand and placed it on her breast. I squeezed gently.

“Honey, give it a good squeeze. I want to know it’s been squeezed,” said Rosie.

I gave her tit a full-fisted squeeze and reached for her other tit with my other hand.

“Oooh, that deserves a kiss as well,” said Rosie and she made good on her statement. Several minutes later, Rosie turned to Liz. “Your turn,” she said.

Liz came over to me and pulled off her sweater. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her tits were larger than Rosie’s. They were darker and her nipples smaller. I didn’t wait for an invitation. I took Liz in my arms, squeezed her tits and kissed her, tongue and all. We were both out of breath when we were finished.

It was Jason’s turn. He was supposed to bowl the next two frames. Having both women watching him, with their naked breasts rising and falling as they breathed, was a major distraction. Fortunately, he had his back to them as he approached the left lane. The ball looked perfect and this time it cleared the deck. Strike!

It was Jason’s turn to squeeze the tits. There was a long delay while Jason collected his incentives, kissing and squeezing each of the women in turn. I watched as the women surrounded him and he squeezed all four tits with reckless abandon, kissing each of them several times.

Eight kissed nipples later, they finally separated. Rosie squeezed Jason’s obvious erection. “Looks like things are developing nicely. I’m hoping for a four bagger,” she said.

Unfortunately, Jason only spared the next frame on the right lane. He was entitled to more kisses but he managed to squeeze some tit at the same time. No one objected.

My turn. I did my best to tune out the topless women behind me and focus on the pins sixty feet away on the left lane. Strike! A double. A rare event for me and more incentives.

“Liz,” said Rosie. “I think these guys have been sandbagging.”

She stood up, kicked off her shoes and stripped off her jeans and panties. Her pussy was shaved or waxed. I couldn’t tell the difference but she had no pubic hair. She was obviously aroused since her labia were inflated and glistening in the dim light. “Baby, I’m expecting some pussy rubbing and don’t hold back.”

She came to me, kissed me and my hand disappeared between her thighs. My fingers slid between her lips and one slipped inside her. She moaned and pushed her hips against my hand. I kissed her left tit and put a second finger inside her pussy. I sucked on her tit and moved my fingers against the front of her vagina and rubbed rapidly.

“Oh shit,” Rosie said and her body shook with what I assumed was a small orgasm.

“God damn,” that was wonderful,” she said and kissed me again.

Liz was waiting her turn. She had removed her yoga pants and thong. Her pussy was classically hairy. A neatly trimmed triangle of dark, curly hair. Her labia were indistinct through her bush but there were drops of glistening secretions hanging on the lower curls.

I palmed her pussy and found her slick opening in seconds. I also found her clitoris with my thumb and I rubbed it in small circles. Liz pulled me off the approach and onto one of the couches surrounding the pit. She lay on her back with her legs spread. I kissed her lips and her nipples while I used my fingers inside her. I started to kiss further down her body but she stopped me. “That’ll take a triple,” she said.

I did the math and realized that a ‘blowjob’ was a mutual activity in her definition.

Rosie added an “Ahem,” to our encounter and we took the hint and separated. I still had to bowl another frame. I didn’t know how I was going to manage with the erection I had. However, I was hoping for another strike.

My hopes vanished when I left three pins standing after two attempts.

The rest of the game was mediocre at best. With two naked and panting women watching, neither Jason nor I were able to manage a triple or better. Jason did get a double and Liz almost had to peel him off Rosie to get her turn with him.

Nobody got a blowjob or laid. After the first game, Rosie told us we could try again only the cost per line would double. güvenilir bahis şirketleri Given our unsteady bowling, neither of us accepted the offer.

The women reluctantly got dressed. We packed our gear and prepared to leave. Both of the women kissed us and we left after Rosie unlocked the door. Rosie said something interesting as we left. “Maybe we can incentivize you again next week. Maybe we can change the game so everybody wins. What do you think?”

Outside in the parking lot, Jason turned to me. “I don’t think I’ll be able to bowl next week but I’ll come to watch.”

I was ninety minutes late getting home. I apologized for being late and told Rebecca the truck had a loose wire and triple A fixed it.

I took a shower and went to bed with her. Fortunately, showering after bowling was my usual routine and it didn’t create any suspicions.

I told the Blues captain that my back was acting up and I couldn’t bowl on Tuesday but I would show up to support the team. Tuesday, on the way to the bowling alley, I stopped and got some tens to take with me.

Jason and I sat at the bar watching the bowlers and drinking beer. We both lingered over our beers, limiting our volume knowing too much would limit our abilities. Rosie arrived about twenty minutes later, saw us at the bar and joined us, sitting between us.

“I was hoping you both would be here this week. I thought about you two all week,” Rosie greeted us. She was wearing a blouse and skirt, full and short. She was facing Jason when she lifted her skirt quickly and offered him a peek. The look on his face told me what he knew, Rosie wasn’t wearing panties.

Liz arrived a few minutes later. She was also in a skirt. She didn’t offer a peek but she did kiss each of us in greeting. Rosie picked up the conversation. “Well, are you two ready to play Bowling for Babes?”

I nodded and Jason replied, “Yes, Ma’am. Last week you suggested a change in the rules.”

“I did,” said Rosie. Liz and I talked about it and we agree. We hope you all will agree too.”

“We’re listening,” said Jason.

“Last week neither of you managed to get the top shelf prizes. We obviously overestimated your bowling skills and we set the bar too high. We hoped you’d try again but we understand your decision to quit early. Whatever bowling prowess you had decreased over time and I think our enthusiasm, and state of undress, had some effect.

“This week we have a different proposal. If you pay for three lines of bowling in advance, we’ll guarantee each of you a four-bagger before we start.”

I looked at Jason. He was obviously processing Rosie’s offer. “If I understand you, we plan to bowl three lines each and we automatically win everything from a kiss to a fuck,” he summarized.

“Not just one fuck,” said Rosie. “Both of us.”

“How much?” asked Jason.

“Well, the first line is ten dollars and it doubles for the second line, twenty dollars. It doubles again for the third line. The total would be seventy dollars.”

While Jason was thinking about it and doing the math in his head, I reached for the roll of bills in my pocket. We each gave Rosie seventy dollars and I gave Jason a ten for last week. Rosie smiled and Liz smiled wider.

Rosie started for the door at the end of the room. “You don’t even need your equipment,” she said. “Your bowling equipment, that is.” Liz slid off her stool and I got that peek that she hadn’t offered earlier. Rosie and she had talked during the week.

In the locked side room, Rosie picked up a bowling ball at random and rolled it down the lane, mostly in the right gutter. Then she pushed the reset button and the machine cleared the pins.

“Looks like each of you got a spare,” she said.

The kisses were even better than a week ago. We breathed into each other’s mouths and, on some signal neither Jason nor I noticed, Rosie and Liz changed places.

We sat for a second on the plush seats surrounding the pit. “Damn,” said Rosie, “I can’t wait for the second frame but now I need a drink.”

Rosie and Liz left Jason and me alone while they went back to the bar for drinks.

“Shit,” said Jason. “Pinch me.”

“You’re not dreaming,” I told him. “They’re real. Their kisses are real and their tits are real. I’ll bet you next week’s pay that their pussies are real too.”

“How the fuck did we get here?” Jason asked.

“Who cares. We have an eighty-dollar investment and I guarantee that’s a bargain in the underground economy. Just follow the bouncing ball, or tit, and you’ll never regret it.”

“Don’t worry,” responded Jason. “I’m already up for it.”

Rosie and Liz returned holding a large bucket of ice with two six-packs of quality beer, not something lite or low calorie, between them,. We twisted off the caps on four of them and toasted each other and the evening to come.

Rosie put her beer on the scoring table, walked up to the ball return and pushed the reset button again. We all watched as the machine cleared all the pins for the second time.

“God damn,” Rosie commented. “What do you know, a strike.”

Rosie pulled her blouse out of her skirt and began to unbutton it. Liz put her beer next to Rosie’s and followed suit. When they were identically naked from the waist up, they moved to stand in front of us sitting on the sofa.

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