Spoilt

My Short Philosophy of Casual Sex

Peter and I officially entered the telephone zone. By that, I mean that he called me just to talk. That is how it usually is. When I first started with boys, calling them first meant that one was slightly more eager (I don't want to use the D word) than the boy. The boy took it as a notch, his ego expanded, and then followed silence.
The saying, treat them mean to keep them keen, is one of my mother's (and aunt Lydia's) favourite sayings. The saying slammed my brain cells together when Peter asked me about our next encounter. He didn't use the words encounter.
"When do I see you again?"
Not when I see him. When he sees me. Irrespective of all the strides made by feminist intellectual giants, society is what it is. While I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's a man's world, many of the big men in politics need someone to wash their smalls, I would say that men are still socialised to to think of themselves as hunters.
"When I am done with my work," I said, then thought screw this. "When I'm not so busy." Yes, goddamn it. I am busy.
"Okay," he said, and amazed me with his next question. "So are we regular or casual."
Without skipping a beat, I said, "We are casual. We're having casual sex. No expectations, meanings and five year plans." And whether many women care to admit it or not, when they say that casual sex is empty, they mean that it is devoid of meaning (to them) and commitment.
What is meaning? Really, what is it? It's up to each person to attach their own meaning. When commitment enters the scene, there are rules, and following this there are jealousies that arise from power exchanges. I don't want to enter or re-enter the mess of all that stuff.
As long as the sex is safe, consensual and no one is emotionally abused, casual sex can be positive.
"I'll do a Seinfeld and say, not that there's anything wrong with casual sex then," he said. Then he went quiet. I don't know if the quietude is a psychological ploy. I don't like to read too much into it. Instead, I improvised, shuffled a few bits of paper, reached for my Blackberry (that was on the other corner of my coffee table) and set it to ring.
"I've got to take this call. It's a huge wedding reception and it's giving me a headache. I need to finish the arrangements."
"Sure."
"Speak soon," I said and ended the call.
I didn't feel powerful. I didn't expect to feel powerful, but I sighed, leaned back and closed my eyes. What the hell was happening? Why does it happen this way? Why is it that when they want to take the next step, they expect that the woman will comply? Not only that, but he is attached to another woman, so why does he think he's entitled to have exclusivity. Then a second voice invaded my head: maybe he's made himself fully available.

Sugasm 169

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The Town Bike

If anyone knows how to turn a discussion to her advantage, it's my aunt Lydia. I didn't think about that factor.
In changing the subject, I had tipped the conversation over. Actually, it was more like hopping in the driver's seat, taking the steering wheel and wrapping the car around a tree. What am I doing? It's a mistake!
It was a mistake.
She began innocently, "I've been meaning to ask about your brother. How are you two faring with the business?"
"Work is fine," I said. I couldn't imagine her question being about anything else.
"Your father is a little concerned," she began.
Was there such a thing as a little? As long as I've known my dad - naturally, a lifetime -it's never a small concern. The first alarm bell rang in my head.
She continued, "He doesn't say much but he's suspicious about his children's spending habits."
"He has spoken to you about this?"
My pulse quickened. I don't have anything to fear, but I sure as hell wanted to cram my brother into a crate, seal it and throw it into The North Sea and no, it's not affectionately Freudian. I tolerate my brother in the way someone tolerates a brain splitting toothache. And even then...
"A little," said Lydia.
"So you're his ears and eyes?"
She shook her head, "It's quite obvious."
"What is?" I asked, at this point confused.
"Your brother's wife and her regular facial treatments, and I'm not talking about skin creams and face masks. Why, she looks a decade younger. If you ask me, she has had something done to her eyelids. They're not as saggy as they were."
I wanted to laugh out loud, but Lydia's observation is scary. Why hadn't I noticed her eyes? I knew about the Botox. From the brows up, Becky reminds me of the creature in the Frankenstein film.
"Really Lydia?"
"Yes C. Haven't you see her?"
"It's not something I like to do on a regular basis...see her. You know how I feel about Becky. Nothing is good enough for her (including aunt Lydia's Russian salad), but she doesn't seem to mind amassing cash for nothing."
I stopped short of divulging my brother's habits. He didn't mind his Baccarat days, and he didn't mind using me as a cover for his spending. How he had a demanding pretend socialite wife.
My parents didn't know the full extent of my brother's habits. It didn't take long for me to feel like a Big Brother contestant. All eyes were on me and I had no idea of the reason behind the close watch. But my brother caved in, to be reprimanded by my mother for lying about me. Of course, I had to have a blood test to prove that I wasn't a regular pot user. That is how stupid my brother can be. According to him, I was a pot head, spent money on bags of dope and the occasional white line.
Gambling can warp the mind. Then, on a holiday abroad, he met Becky. He thought she was well connected financially - until her dad went bankrupt.
"He can't blame me this time," I said.
"It all depends. Have you spent a lot?"
I didn't like the way this conversation headed, and sure enough, the fog began to clear.
"Me? Are you joking? I'm making ends meet."
The conversation had potential to grow in any horrific direction. Horrific as it was familial. It also made me feel nauseous. I decided to steer it back to the easiest subject. "Besides, if I didn't have the current man in my life, I wouldn't have a life or eat out...or have sex."
That perked my aunt's ears. She has always been into gossip. She can't live without her daily dose of News of the World or The Sun.
"This man your brother has his eye on?"
There are three things you don't discuss without discord: religion, politics and money.
"He's looking for another financial lifeline. But it's unnecessary and I'll be fucked if I'll give Becky leeway. He's mistaken if he thinks Peter will look the other way and shrug his shoulders."
"Peter...that's his name? What does this Peter do?"
Apart from casually fucking me? I had no idea about his background. Only snippets.
"He has a few business interests in a few pubs."
"That translates to something sinister," she said.
"Lydia...why must you think the worst."
"Interests. You either have a business or not. You either work or you don't. Having interests is like today's equivalent to being a feudal lord or a drug dealer."
"Well, he isn't. He's not some young upstart," I said. "He's younger than forty six...I think."
"You think?" She smiled and refilled her cup. "What else?"
"He's great in bed," I said, at this point nonplussed about my visit and the conversation. As long as we didn't discuss family rubbish, I was happy.
"Does he do everything?"
"I'm quite satisfied. It's a lot for someone my age, don't you think?"
"Yes I do. He's lucky to have you. The old goat! But you don't want to be a town bike or anything like that."
"Look who's talking. How many times have you been married again?"
We both laughed hard. Then the day seemed to fade to darkness. I didn't go for a third round of tea. By then it was amlost five in the evening and I hadn't picked up my dry cleaning. I made the excuse, but well into my journey home, didn't feel like making the mad dash.
At home, I collapsed on the sofa, kicked off my shoes and closed my eyes. The phone rang three times. Twice I let the answering service pick up, the third time I had to call work back. Seems that a blushing bride is having second thoughts about her wedding, never mind the fucking wedding reception.

 

Tea | Scones | Sex Confessions

I don't like "calling-in" for sex, but I have strange predilections. When it's winter, I'm quite content beneath the blankets, alone. Now that it's sweltering, I crave sweaty, heady fucking that can be tricky to get - when people are either busy with work, away on holiday, on a mini-break and so on.
During such times, sex toys make things a little easier, but it's not the same...but they can quench the thirst for a little bit.
I decided to visit my aunt Lydia. She's big on traditions, afternoon tea being one such tradition. She goes all out, ensures she has a calorific collection of pastries and cake on hand, and she'll happily spend a chunk of the afternoon chatting, eating and sipping tea. She doesn't go for the fancy tea or, as she calls it, the yuppie tea. She's happy with the blends she buys at the supermarket.
So a few days ago, I visit, prepare for the cake load and we're talking. Along the way, she tried to be discreet. It's no secret that my brother tells my mother everything.
It seems that he divulged the recent lunch. My brother and I aren't that close to lunch each day. There has to be a reason. Lately, it's been about exploring the possibility of snaring a business partner for the business. It doesn't matter what I say, that I disagree with any form of expansion or loans during a recession, my brother thinks along overdone views like 'spending money to make money.'
So my aunt did the 'don't say I told you,' and hinted at my brother and mother's conversation. My mother tells aunt Lydia everything...
She began, "Your brother shocked her. What happened at the eatery?"
"Which eatery?" I asked.
"The one the three of lunched at to talk about the business. You, your brother and that man...older than you," she began. "Who is he? Is he your brother's friend?"
I shrugged, "I'm not sure who you're referring to, Lydia."
She leaned forward and winked, "Yes you do. I can tell. I haven't spent your whole life with you. Remember the time you pocketed the tiny matrioshka doll? You think I didn't know? And I'm not telling you how I know. It's all in your expression."
I rolled my eyes, "And? I have lunch a few times."
"Not with your brother, you don't. I do know that. Your mother expressed concern about this...Peter. How you both behaved at the lunch," she said, then laughed.
"Your role is to tell mum everything?"
She shook her head.
"It's not my business. Your relationships are your relationships. Sometimes I wish I could have my time over during this time."
Great, she knows, I thought. My brother may live in his own world, but my aunt has a sixth sense about sex. She has been married four times and maintains that it was necessary in her circle.
"Why? It's not any easier."
"But it is. During my time, I had to marry each man I wanted to fuck."
I almost choked on Danish pastry. "Okay. I didn't hear that."
"But you did!" She slapped her thigh and giggled. "There you have it."
Not like I asked for more information, but Lydia continued regardless.
"Your brother's a little nervous. Seems that he thinks you'll have the advantage, that your using your...you know...for business benefits."
"He thinks I'm fucking for benefits?" Why not ask? My aunt was the first to let it all hang out with her confession. "Is that why you called me here?"
Lydia shook her head and refilled our cups, "No. Not my business. Your young and you should have fun. Why restrict yourself to one person. Look at your brother with that clinging vine of his. I hope she doesn't bleed you dry."
I winked, "I've figured a way to move the funds before he arrives to collect for the bitch's Botox sessions."
There is no way I'm going to work for his wife to reap the Botox rewards. She can work, just refuses to work because she entertains Sex and the City fantasies. She thinks she's Charlotte.
"Good. Good. Now I want to know all about your new man. Is he good...is he good in bed?"
"Lydia!" My eyes felt strange, probably because they were wide as saucers.
"Come on. Give me some good news. Your mother has settled down..."
I didn't know what she meant by that, but chose to ignore it.
"Your brother will always have his wife clutching his balls and our other family is too far."
"There's nothing to tell you, other than the usual stuff and you won't approve."
Lydia may have liked her fun, but she was always a practical woman. She didn't waste her time marrying men who couldn't afford her tastes. It's the reason why she sits within a substantial apartment in Belgravia.
I began, "Okay he's older."
She nodded.
"He's self sufficient. Self employed."
"Good, good..."
"And he's probably married or in some long term relationship, but that's not my concern. We have a casual relationship."
Two out of three...Lydia's face soured a little.
"You don't know?"
I shook my head. I never asked. I assumed. To assume is to make a potential fool of oneself, but I vowed to step out of the mainstream relationship rituals.
"It's not like I'm planning on marrying him, Lydia. I'm not planning on any long-term relationship at the moment. I don't know how I really feel about them."

I just don't.

She shrugged, "Interesting. Your mother won't approve. But she never approves of anything. I'm surprised she approved of your brother's choice. Did you know that your brother could have had his pick...but he thought he was marrying into the fucking Astor family, with the way his then fiance behaved, putting on airs and graces."

We shifted away from the morality of my relationship and I stopped short of divulging most of the sordid details of my relationship with Peter, and his sometime urges to use his will to overpower mine.

Delayed Reaction

It's not a mistake, but it felt like I'd dropped the ball. I fell asleep shortly after the strenuous cock-suck. No, it wasn't sleep. More like a languid doze, to wake and fell something that I hadn't felt in a while - the bulk of another human.
Then I remembered that Peter had been there. He'd been in my house. He was still in my house. I kept my eyelids shut, breathed deeply and tried to blend into the bedding. If we were both cozily draped over each other, I'd call it a wonderful afterglow. But the only way to know if he was awake was to turn, and I didn't feel like going there. I wasn't in the cuddle-possible fuck mood. What does one say?
I'd vowed never to fall into the trap of discussing anything that stretched beyond the sex. The only F-word I cared about was the Fuck. No futures or feelings. Fuck that.
Eyes closed, I felt his weight shift then the bed felt lighter. I heard him shuffle around. Peter tried to be quiet. I pretended to stir. I heard his footsteps fade from the bedroom. The bathroom was the next logical choice.
Sure enough, the water began running. I slowly turned around, opened one eye and safe in the knowledge that Peter was about to step into the shower cubicle. Ahh, how fun. Of course he needs to shower if he's going to return home to his other half.
I felt a little off. Like I'd danced the same routine forever, caught in the same groove.
Peter showered, dressed and returned to the bedroom in time to see me feigning REM sleep. Fuck, I almost held my breath to the point of jolting upright in a freaked out splutter. Fortunately for me, he quietly let himself out.

**

Three days after and two days into another period, I wasn't surprised not to hear form Peter. Some cycles are filled with tension, others are filled with the constant horny buzz in the background. Nature is a bitch.
What is the point of being infused with the lava of uber horniness during a menstrual period? Don't ask me. I don't know. I don't claim to know, but I couldn't wait to return home from work to fill the void with a shower proof toy. As gross as it may seem, the menstrual flow make insertion easier -somewhat.
I stood with my left cheek pressing against the cold tile, legs wide and the toy whirring between my legs. Warm-hot water rained down my back, over my butt and I worked the toy into my cunt. It wasn't about the clit-thrill. I wanted to be filled, to fill myself. If I were capable, at that moment, I'd fill myself until I knocked all my breath out of my lungs.
Yelling "Fuck" out loud, hearing the minor echo in the bathroom, may have emphasized the isolated scene, but it also highlighted my libido.
Vibrator all the way inside me, I moaned loudly.
Normally I'd string it out, fuck my pussy until I swam in my own warm sticky juicy. Standing in the shower cubicle, succumbing to the primal urge, I slowly removed the toy and rubbed the shaft against my clit, and slightly closed my thighs. The vibration complemented the warm rush of blood in my pelvis; my clit pulsed, and I yielded to the buzz...squeezing until my mouth gaped open and my knees felt lighter than air.
However, the climax didn't dissipate the urge...

The Gawking Groom

The new groom sat next to his future wife, eyes aglow from his own ego acting as a backlight. Seriously, I had to wonder why people even bothered tying the knot. And his future wife didn't look cool or calm, or resemble anything like a swinger. Her eyes followed his. I sat, uncomfortably I may add, in my new fuck-me heels, the kind I wear most days. It's not my fault that I like black patent leather.

She blinked a few times, kept to the plan. He was happy with the quote I offered. She tried to wiggle her way out of it, her fingers fidgeted with her hem, and almost everything in her handbag. I felt like showing them the door. But I truly felt like opening my mouth and saying something horridly real like, "Honey, he'll always be a gawker and if that makes you uncomfortable now, then I suggest living together, that way you'll have an escape hatch."

Booking a reception is the easy part. They always book one to two years in advance. I collect the deposit, and if they don't last, I keep a percentage of the deposit. Not that it's anything exciting. A huge chunk goes toward maintenance (all kinds of staff, produce, beverages, etc). So I take home a wage for myself.

The future groom continued, his blue eyes checking out my feet. Maybe he was a foot fetishist. Isn't it the way that a gawker thinks they're unnoticeable? They were happy with the new credit-crunch happy rate per head, and I happily showed them out, but as I showed them out of my office, the lecherous bastard-groom winked, and discreetly dropped his business card, pretended not to have seen it.

I mean...honestly...why do people bother tying the knot?

Sugasm 168

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Stranger Fuck & Plough

Lately, I've allowed the brain to drift a little. One slow weekend, bookings that are farther down the track, leave me with a little more time to entertain my own little fantasies and that can be positive. Really, it's hard to have complete stranger sex. So I thought I'd to the next best thing and write a make believe story about fucking a stranger. Its working title: Stranger Fuck & Plough

Stranger Fuck & Plough

I’d checked my email earlier and I paid a few overdue bills. What else? I could read the news sites, but I’d decided on a news diet. No more wars, political buffoons or celebrity drivel. I clicked open three browser tabs and yielded to the curious adult within. It’s as the dating site opens up that I realise that my domestic persona is tame, pathetic almost.
As my eyes adjust to the bright screen and the smiling ‘sexy’ members, I remember my just-for-laughs user name. The password requires an email prompt, so I wait a little and refresh my free email account. Part of me can’t believe that what I’m about to do. The other part dismisses the seriousness. It is just for fun.
Finally, I log in. The real-time chat screen updates me on my personal winks and messages. Nothing. I’d deleted the hundred or so messages I’d received a year before. The picture with my profile isn’t real, but it isn’t far off. I’d like to think that my nude physical proportions are similar to the seated woman on my profile.
I remember the hot summer’s day I created the profile. Paul had gone away on a weekend fishing trip and I was holed up at home with a dreaded stomach virus. SexyGenie it was. It felt as lame then as it did now, but the hungry male members didn’t mind. In less than ten minutes, I received five chat requests, ten winks and eight messages.
“Not bad,” I muttered, watchful of the Japanese tourist two seats away. Did she hear me? Maybe she was up to similar things?
Like a duck to water, I succumbed to online routine. I clicked each notification by the profile name. In real life, preferences matter little. I tend to be sexually motivated by interpersonal chemistry. But I do settle on one user name, G Minor. Must be a musician, I think. He politely asks if I’d like to chat over coffee.
It’s on…
SexyGenie: Are you buying?
G Minor: Let’s see if I have the right money…I’m a little poor.
SexyGenie: Is there such a thing? :)
G Minor: I like your profile. It’s interesting…especially the bit about chocolate covered marshmallows.
He gets straight to the point. I like it.
SexyGenie: Soft, sweet…they feel like talcum skin.
G Minor: How old are you? Talcum? Who wears that? Wait…I know. My grandmother.
SexyGenie: I can even satisfy that fantasy.
G Minor: LMAO
SexyGenie: You jest? Do you see me joking?
G Minor: What turns you on…I’ll be straight. I’m hard thinking about your picture and straightforward introduction.
SexyGenie: I don’t muck about.
G Minor: Would you squirm if I licked my way down your naked back?
I decide to cross my right leg over my left. If I don’t, it’ll nervously bounce up and down, revealing my nascent horniness.
G Minor: I’d run my hands over your soft skin…over your waist, over your stomach and between your soft inner thighs.
SexyGenie: Don’t stop now. You missed my boobs.
G Minor: I know. It’s too obvious. The first place. I’d like to wait until your nipples are painfully hard from the wait.
SexyGenie: That’s nice. Sexual agony makes me wet.
G Minor: What else makes you wet?
SexyGenie: Large hands massaging my inner thighs. The sensation of a hard cock against my clothed arse. Spending a day at work wearing duo balls wedged deep inside my cunt, knowing that I’m fully greased up and no one else knowing.
G Minor: Fuck, now that makes me harder still. Are you wearing any duo balls now?
SexyGenie: No. I don’t have to. I’m…let’s say…open to suggestion.
G Minor: Open to suggestion?
SexyGenie: If someone decided to finger fuck me now, I’m wet-ready for it. I shouldn’t talk about it, it makes me hornier still.
G Minor: Horny enough for?
SexyGenie: Horny enough to be fucked.
G Minor: How do you like to be fucked?
SexyGenie: Now that’s something to think about.
G Minor: I don’t have all day sweet lips.
SexyGenie: It depends on my mood and the place. The level of my excitement? Right now, I can be taken anywhere. Bent over a desk, cock shoved deep into me. I can deal with that. Other times I like to be fucked slow or slow enough so I can half-sit and watch the cock sliding in and out of me, wet and hard.
G Minor: You give me ideas. Do you think you’re wet.
SexyGenie: Think? I know. If I squeeze my thighs any harder, I’ll orgasm.
The unfamiliar familiarity of cybersex caught me. Cheeks flustered and clit pulsing beneath my skirt, I fought the urge to discreetly rub my pussy with the back of my hand.
G Minor: I’d love to feel your sticky cunt…stick my fingers inside you and whip you into a lather. Then I’d turn you around, slide my cock into your pussy and fuck you.
SexyGenie: That sounds nice.
It sounded ideal. So ideal that I lost myself.
SexyGenie: Are you fucking me now? In your mind…pulling my thighs apart, settling between my legs?
G Minor:  I’m rubbing my cockhead up and down your slit, teasing your clit. You’re saturated…gooey and edible. You moan, beg me to fuck you. But I eat your pretty cunt, beginning at your juicy hole…licking around it.
SexyGenie: Go on…don’t stop there. Fuck me with your hot tongue.
G Minor: Are you watching? Watch me sweets, watch my tongue….mmmmmmm…
SexyGenie: Fuck…my clit’s throbbing right now.
G Minor: I lick around your clit…you thrust upward, begging for my cock. I ask you, ‘How ready are you?’ and you shake your head, demanding to be fucked hard.
SexyGenie: That’s right. Demanding. I want you to own my cunt, to ram it hard until my juice runs out of my pussy. Fuck me…come one…fuck me hard.
G Minor: How bad do you want it?
SexyGenie: I need it…all the way inside me. Until I can feel your cock head ram my cervix. Until my thighs burn. Are you willing to fuck me that deep?
G Minor: I’m serious. Are you willing to take it out of here, this room?
I had to think about it.
SexyGenie: The way I feel right now…
I hadn’t had sex in months…Paul didn’t like ‘fucking’ and he hadn’t liked it for a long time. Porn didn’t help either, with Paul screwing up his face in disgust.
G Minor: Yeah, right now. Right now I’d take you somewhere and plough into your sweet pussy. You?
SexyGenie: Yes. I want a thick cock inside me. To let go. To be fucked.
G Minor: Turn around…
SexyGenie: What?
G Minor: Turn around…Turn your head.

***

Thank god for shopping malls. My ardor overrules the cloud of guilt. We can’t afford a glam hotel, but we do find a vacant handicapped toilet in the shopping mall.
On the way to the mall, we barely speak. In fact, I tell him to shut up, not speak. He digs his right hand into his coat pocket, to minimise his hard-on. I rush along with my handbag dangling at the elbow. No doubt, I’d rewind to this moment and picture our forms. What type of couple did we look like? Difficult to tell. Harried, horny or both?
When I did turn around in the café, the image I saw didn’t frighten me. I figured that he’d been spying on my profile from the row behind.  Tall, lean and blessed with a pair of generous lips, he raised his hand to wave and I noticed his long fingers. Imagined his first three fingers sinking deep inside my pussy.
He almost pulls me off my feet. His mouth grinds against mine, and it takes a few more moments until we find our perfect kissing rhythm. But we get there. Our tongues alternate; he fucks my mouth and I return the gesture, grind my pelvis against his, sense his hard cock somewhere beneath his layers and feel myself bristle with primal lust.
“Here,” he says, and raises my skirt. “Fuck…wait…”
My tights come down with my panties.
“Yeah…uh-uh…there,” I breathe, as I direct his fingers to my wet hole. “Fuck me there…”  I guide his first two fingers inside me, “Ahhh…yes…”
He watches his fingers disappear and reappear, “You’re so fucking wet and delicious. Yes…Fuck!”
“F-Fuck me....”
The smooth thrusts multiply. I shut my eyes and ride his fingers. Then I remember his cock. The compulsion to watch his rigid arousal strokes my inner slut to a frenzy.
“Come on baby,” I say, fumbling with his fly. “Show me that cock. Fuck me with it.”
“I hope you take it…I’ll give it to you,” he nibbles my earlobe and groans into my ear. I spread wider, as much as my tights allow.  My thighs hold his hand in position.
Breathing deeply, he says, “I want to lick you out now. Step out of them.”
By them, he means the tights. I step out of my pumps and sit on the closed lavatory. He crouches and pulls my tights and soaked panties down further.
“Push your arse forward,” he commands, “On the edge. Until your cunt is on the edge.”
After satisfying the request, I lean back and shiver as his warm fingertips spread my labia open. Almost shy, I watch him slurp at my cunt through half-lidded eyes. Heat prickles my inner thighs, crawls upward to my cunt. I thrust my pelvis upward, embellish the gesture with a needy moan and throw my head back.
He briefly raises his head, reveals shiny lips and a chin soaking with my pussy juice. “You fucking horny bitch…”
“Don’t s-stop.”
His tongue swirls around my clit. I gyrate, attempt to make direct contact between his tongue and my clit, but he moves south, licks around my entrance. Unable to withstand the prolonged torture, I try to finger myself, to be rejected with a quick slap on my hand.
“You’ll wait,” he say and returns between my legs, shoves his tongue into my pussy.
“W-We don’t have t-time…” I moan.
“Fuck them…No one’s here,” he says, and starts fucking me with his first two fingers.
“Your cock…put your cock in me,” I demand, trying to reach forward and grab his thick shaft. Face damp and hot, I swallow and release all my emotions through a series of short pants. Whether he succumbs or feels pity for me, he stops and reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out a condom square, unwraps it and deftly rolls it onto his stiff shaft.
Lips pursed, he eases himself inside me. “How’s  that feel.”
“Fucking wonderful…fuck me.”
“Say please,” he sarcastically says.
“Please.”
I must look a sight. Seated on the toilet and spread wide, tights to my ankles, skirt raised to my waist, hair somewhere round my shoulders and waiting to be fucked, I groan.
“With more feeling,” he says, looking at his half submerged cock.
“Please. Now. Fuck me you fucking bastard.” I reach forward, push up his long sleeved polo shirt and brush his silky happy trail with the back of my fingers.
“Mmm…shit yes…take it all,” he snarls and shoves his cock into me. At first, he jabs me three or four times. Hard, fast…to the hilt. Then he relaxes his rhythm, holds the base of the condom and fucks me with smooth long strokes. My fingers play with my swollen clit and I ready, clench my cunt. As my orgasm neared, I clench my pelvic floor until he groans and my cunt firmly embraces his cock.
“Jesus…Fuck!” I yelp, gripped his hips and pull him into me.
He keeps on. His cock ploughs into my cunt as my muscles contract. He keeps on fucking me. I momentarily close my eyes, catch my breath. When I return to the cool tiled world around me, his cock slams into me repeatedly.
“Fuck…you want to keep on fucking me…” I swallow, bearing down.
He slow, “Such a hot fucking pussy. How could I not want to…”
“Come for me…” I hoarsely command.
Groaning, he frowns and grits his teeth, “O-Open wider…I…need…to fuck you deeper.”
With my cunt sodden beyond belief, he has a wide berth. I raise my legs high enough so he can grip them from the backs of my thighs. Then he slams against me, stays there and moans. He empties his load as his hips rub against my inner thighs.
When he pulls out, holding his cock before peeling off the condom, I appraise the entire picture. I retrieve my tights, pull them upward and feel my fingernail penetrate the nylon.
“Shit,” I mutter. I heard his laugh. “My last pair.”
I don’t like talking after fucking. It’s difficult to find the right thing to say. Even saying thank you feels lame.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Ah…Um…”
“I know it’s not sexy genie,” he turns and grins. “Anyway, I’d thank you but it’s not like you’ve served me French fries.”
“I don’t want to…I can’t…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know your name? I’m Nate. Short for Nathan.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Smiling, he says, “Sure is…Very nice. Fucking-A nice. We can always meet up again.”
My cheeks blaze. “I d-don’t know. I don’t always make it to the city.”
“You made it to orgasm. I enjoyed that…you did too. Here’s my number.” He drops a card on my lap. “I hope you call.”
“I did…enjoy it,” I nod. I revelled in the fuck.  I’d love to enjoy more and I’m fucking married. What the fuck am I doing?
The first thing I do when I arrive home, after forcefully wiping the grin off my face, is step into the shower. Paul calls through the living room, where the television blazes and a talking head dissects a sports match on the new digital sport channel.

Have a Hot F**king Weekend | Pirelli Nude Catherine McNeil

How is this for hotness? Isn't it mouthwatering?

Cock.In.Mouth

I have a saying that differs from the saying associated with verbal faux pas, foot in mouth.

Cock in mouth = uttering the most flirtatious, risque, (sexually) suggestive thing at the most unexpected moment, in unusual circumstances due to the influence of lust.

It was the second session of lunch between the three of us: Peter, my brother and I. I turned up to the same eatery half an hour late and, thanks to three tots of brandy, a little soused up. Being mid-month, the hormones started flaring up and inducing me with an early jab of horniness. It gets a little hot before my period.
I sat, imbibed a little more pinot noir and watched the proceedings.
My brother tried to steer the conversation toward the financial side while I had on a leery grin that said, "It's not like we're desperate." Peter's eyes turned from me to my brother and back, to repeat the cycle.
Hotter under my panties than under my collar, I leaned back and joked about Peter making me an offer I couldn't refuse. Then I turned to my brother, opened my mouth and he almost made a scene.
"How about an indecent proposal from Peter? I'm up for it," I said.
My cheeks tingled.
Whether it was my monthly hormonal load, the wine, Peter's knee brushing against mine under the table (it was a smallish table), or a combination of everything -my brain screamed sex.
My brother said, "Mind your manners C. This isn't the time to joke."
I shifted in my seat. It was like someone turned a faucet. Suddenly, I wanted Peter's cock.
"Come now. Peter's all grown up. I'm an adult," I said, raised my eyebrows, "If he can keep a secret, so can I. It'll be hot."
For me, that was the cock-in-mouth moment.
Horrified, my brother summoned the server and mumbled something about coffee.
It gave me a moment to appraise Peter's face for any telltale discomfort. He turned and mouthed something. Then I felt a thumb and set of fingers squeeze my thigh. I wanted to scream. Fuck! '
Pain braced my thigh.
He turned and whispered in my ear, "Stop now or I'll fuck your arse off later. You're making me hard."
The danger...thrill of my brother finding out?
Men are strange...as are women.
My brother saw, turned toward us and smiled weakly, "What did I miss?"
"Nothing at all," said Peter, refilling my brother's glass. "A toast to another lovely lunch with no decision."
"I don't mean to..." Then he glared at me, "I have to apologise for her."
"Yes, I shouldn't drink early in the day. I couldn't resist our cognac shipment."
Peter smiled and said, "To warm you up? But it's not cold."
"I'm not warm enough. But I can think of one way to get all fired up," I said, winking at Peter. Not only winking. I leaned into his shoulder.
A few minutes later, Peter excused himself. My brother grizzled about my behaviour. I told him to get over it, threw the napkin on the table and announced my departure. I didn't even see Peter return, hearing his voice.
"I'll give you a lift."
Silence isn't golden...it can go down like a lead balloon.
"Thanks," I said.
I avoided my brother's eyes and looked into Peter's eyes. I knew the outcome

***

I barely opened my front door. Peter pushed me through, and we stood in the entry hall.  I moved ahead, felt his hand on the collar of my shirt. Without a word, I almost fell backward. When I opened my mouth, his left hand clamped over mine.
With his right hand, he brought my face to his.
"You'll get on your knees now."
I looked down, noticed his hardening cock. It was at half mast in his car. He had grabbed my hand and placed it over it.
"You like to be dangerous?"
I didn't respond, was well on my way south.
Silently, I unbuckled his snakeskin belt, undid his button and unzipped his fly.
"Not all the way..." he said, and leaned against the front door. "Suck it well. You deserve it."
Not only did I deserve it. I considered it a bonus as I didn't expect to see him for weeks.
I pulled down his pants and underwear a short way and went to work on his thick shaft, licking my way around and making sure I missed no flesh.
My lips smacked, I almost drooled onto his linen pants. His grip on my hair tightened.
Off I went or off we went.
I sucked, pulling his shaft into my mouth and stuffed as much of him as I could within. Initially, I turned my face to the side and enjoyed the sensation of his cock fucking the inside of my cheek. The moist smack of his cock against my cheek made me wetter by the second.
My knees may have been numb from the hardwood floor, but excitement electrified the air. It seemed that way. I turned again, and sucked him off as I faced his balls. It would be short, just enough to prolong the sensation, for me to reposition myself so I could squeeze my inner thighs tightly together, to increase pressure against my clit.
"Why are you stopping?" he asked, breath ragged.
Then I did my best to lick his balls. I'd been holding them for so long that I tasted my perspiration.
Moaning, his lips slackened. "Are you always...a tart in front of your brother?"
It's difficult to talk with a mouth full of balls. I left them in my mouth for a few seconds longer, and leaned back until they dropped out of my mouth.
"That all depends," I said. Now shut the fuck up so I can suck your cock.

I didn't say it. I thought it. Who knew what would happen if I said it. I'd said enough at the eatery.
Gazing at my creation...his cock, my creation via tawdry thoughts, suggestive words and the simple image of me sucking him off...Peter's cock head reflected his intensity. Maroon-purple in colour, his cock head reminded me of a ripe cherry.
My heart raced.
I leaned forward and asked him if he was ready, and I waited.
He looked downward and groaned, pushing his groin against me.
Sighing, half-exasperated and on the brink, I said, "Fuck my mouth."
Then he grunted and used both hands. His eyes said, here take it all into your fucking mouth, bitch. But as he pushed his cock into me, and my lips closed around his hard shaft, his eyes rolled up into his skull. He groaned until his voice slid under my skin. His hands fell off my shoulders, leaving me in full control.
I gripped his cock and sucked, turning my head from one side to the other until I felt myself letting go and the blood rush in my head. A few seconds more...my cunt contracted. A few more slurps of his cock...seconds or minutes, and I tasted his gooey cum.
He yelp-yowled. I pulled pack, relishing the warm stream of cum that dribbled from the corner of my mouth to my shirt.
I gazed up, smiled and hoped my knees wouldn't creak on the upward rise. My body craved a hot bath, and a hot idea flickered through.