by Amy Brent
“You can show me your big, hard cock,” she said, rubbing the tip of her nose to mine. She pressed her cheek to mine, then trailed her tongue around the rim of my ear. “Better still, you can just take it out and fuck me with it.”
I took a nervous glance toward the door. “What about your husband? The others?”
“My husband is a pompous windbag who now has a captive audience,” she said, reaching around to set her drink on the sink behind me. Her hands came back around to the front of my jeans. She rubbed her palm against my erection and cooed into my mouth. “And now, apparently, I have a captive audience of my own.”
“Apparently, you do,” I said with a smile.
She stepped back, got to her knees on the shaggy rug in front of me, and quickly ripped open my belt and pants. She hooked her fingers in the waistband and shoved my jeans and boxers down my legs. My twelve-inch cock sprang up and bounced in the air for a moment. When she saw it, her eyes grew wide and she licked her lips.
“Oh my, Wynn, what a lovely cock you have,” she said as the fingers of her right hand went around the veiny shaft and the fingers of her left hand went for my balls. Her hand started moving back and forth, back and forth. I sucked in a quick breath and braced my palms against the counter to keep my knees from buckling.
“The better to fuck you with, my dear,” I said, arching my back so my cock stuck out even more. She hummed as her hand started sliding slowly up and down the shaft, then pressed her lips to the head, which looked like a crimson balloon about to pop. When little drops of precum oozed from the slit, she hummed again and licked them away.
“God, your cock is so fucking big,” she said, hands working in tandem, her lips leaving lipstick on the head, tongue teasing the slit. “Jefferson has a cock like… an old man… not you… mmm… yours is… this is… fucking…mmm… magnificent...”
“Uh… thanks…” I said, closing my eyes and trying to keep my breathing steady. The last thing I needed was to prematurely shoot my load all over her face and tits, though that would be something I did many times in the coming months. “Fuck… Mrs. Milton… I mean… Jean… that’s… wow… amazing…”
She held the shaft steady as her lips closed around the head. She pumped the shaft and sucked the head like a piece of hard candy, slurping it noisily. I just watched in awe as she opened her mouth and took my cock in until the tip hit the back of her throat. The six inches of shaft left outside her mouth was being serviced by her hand milking slowly back and forth. I watched her slowly draw her lips back over the shaft, then use her spit to lube the entire thing. After a minute of this, I knew that I was getting damn near close to exploding in her mouth.
“Let me… fuck you... Jean,” I said, reaching for her. She smiled up at me with my cock resting between her lips, then let me help her to her feet. She reached around behind and unzipped the cocktail dress. When it fell to the floor, I felt the breath catch in my throat. She was totally naked, with a freakin’ rockin’ body right out of Penthouse magazine. How the hell did old professor Milton get this gorgeous woman to even notice him was behind me. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.
She took a step back so I could take in her body. She was full figured, shapely, not a flaw that I could see, sexy as hell. She cupped her bulbous breasts in her palms and rolled her thick nipples under her thumbs. She had a dark bush, neatly trimmed. I could see her plump clit hood and pussy lips glistening already with her juices.
“Fuck me from behind,” she said. “So, I can watch you in the mirror.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, sidestepping her with my jeans and boxers still around my ankles and my cock sticking out like a tree limb. She pressed her palms on the counter, got onto her tiptoes, and stuck out her gorgeous ass. I looked toward the ceiling and gave a silent thank you. I took my cock in my hand and stroked it as I guided the head to her pussy hole, which was pink and dripping with anticipation.
“Fuck me hard, Wynn,” she said, smiling at me in the mirror. Her big tits swung beneath her. “Fuck me really hard.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said again. I took a step closer as the head of my cock pressed to her hole, then easily slid inside her. I dug my fingers into her hips and watched her in the mirror as my cock impaled her an inch at a time. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open. I could hear her exhale with every inch invading her from behind. When I felt the tip of my cock hit her innermost wall, I slowly pulled out until the head appeared, then slid back in again.
“Oh… fuck…” she moaned, eyes closed, head hanging. “You are… so… fucking… huge… my pussy… stretching… oh… fuck... yes… yes…”
God, she was tight. Tight as any twenty-year old I’d ever fucked, and I’d fucked a lot of them. Her pussy suctioned around my cock, gripping it tight. I could feel her cunt muscles squeezing my shaft as it slid in and out, in and out. It didn’t take long before I could feel the orgasm building deep inside my balls like a volcano about to blow.
“Faster… Wynn… faster... fuck me… faster…”
I dug my fingers into her sides and started slamming it to her, ramming her wet pussy with my hard cock as fast and hard as I could without hurting either of us. Her big tits swung like pendulums from her chest. She opened her eyes to look at me in the mirror. Her mouth was open, her tongue draped across her bottom lip like a panting dog.
“Fuck… Jean… I’m going… to… fuck…cum…”
“Cum with me… baby…” she moaned, pushing her ass back toward me until my cock rammed against her cervix. “Cum in me… cum… harder… fuck… yes… yes… yes…”
For the life of me, I had no idea how the other twenty people at the party didn’t hear us going at it like wild animals. I totally forgot that I was in Professor Milton’s upstairs guest bathroom fucking his hot wife. And Jean didn’t seem to care. She was practically wailing as she came all over my cock, squirting, drenching me, milking me with her magic pussy.
When it was over, I fell against her and reached around to get a handful of her big tits. She wiggled her ass against me and smiled in the mirror.
“What were you thinking?” I asked playfully as I nipped at her shoulder. That’s when she said the words that changed my life forever. She smiled at me in the mirror again and gave her ass a little wiggle.
“I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “My pussy was.”
I blinked at her for a moment as a tiny spark of an idea went off in my brain. “Your pussy was thinking?”
She pushed herself up and leaned back against me. My hands cradled her tits. I rested my chin on her shoulder to stare at her. She said, “You know how men think with their cocks?”
I gave her a nod. “Yes.”
“Well, women think with their pussies. And my pussy thought it would be a great idea to meet your big cock.” She turned to face me and reached down to take my damp, softening cock in her hand. She rubbed the head of my cock against her clit and sighed. “So, Professor Wynn Driver’s cock, nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I said as she moved to sit on the toilet to clean herself off.
As I pulled up my pants and stuffed my cock back into my boxers, her words stuck in my brain.
What’s your pussy thinking?
What’s Your Vagina Thinking?
A year later it would be a question I’d be asking the world.
And the world—or at least many of those in the world with pussies—would be more than happy to answer.
CHAPTER THREE: Judith “Jude” Allen
“I can’t believe you’re reading this book,” Izzy said after plopping down on the sofa next to me and picking up my dog-eared copy of What’s Your Vagina Thinking? from the coffee table. I had been sitting peacefully on the couch in our little off-campus apartment working on the dissertation for my Master’s psychology class when she blew into the room like a hurricane and started giving me crap.
Izzy—Isabelle Miranda Parks, to be exact—was a beautiful black girl from Atlanta who was
mastering in clinical psychology at Midwestern. She was tops in her class and had a brilliant mind for psychology, though her boisterous personality and foul mouth would probably belie that fact to anyone who didn’t know her.
Izzy had been my roommate and best friend since freshman year. Now, four years later, we were both in grad school at Midwestern and were just a few semesters away from starting our professional lives.
Izzy as a clinical psychologist and me, well, I wasn’t sure what I would do with my life yet. I would graduate with a Master’s in Psychology, but I was now thinking about getting my Doctorate, so I could practice as a psychiatrist.
Honestly, like so many people do, I got into psychology to address my own mental health issues, to figure out my own warped shit, primarily because I thought I was a nymphomaniac with an older man complex.
Now, with the help of my lover, Professor Holden Moss, I had figured out that I wasn’t really a nympho, just a horny bitch who liked to fuck older guys. Just coming to that revelation cleared the way for me to devote my time to helping others do the same.
“Why aren’t there any pictures of actual pussies in this book?” Izzy asked, clicking her tongue as she flipped through the book written by Holden’s best pal, Dr. Wynn Driver. “Girl, there ain’t a single pussy in this book, thinking or otherwise. That title is false advertising!”
“The title is a metaphor,” I said, doing my best to sound serious despite the smile that was itching at my lips. “It’s about the female anatomy’s effect on the brain.”
“Like a man thinking with his dick,” she said, shaking her head as she scanned the chapters.
“Yes, pretty much.”
“What the fuck ever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Still, if the title says it’s about a thinking pussy, I wanna see pictures of thinking pussies!”
“Maybe your pussy thinks too much,” I said, giving her a sideways grin.
“Girl, the problem with my pussy is Earl don’t give it time to breathe, much less think!” She cackled at herself and slapped the book on her thighs. Izzy had been dating Earl Winston, the extremely cocky and arrogant captain of the Midwestern University Buccaneers, for nearly three years. Earl had offered to fix me up with his football buddies, but I had always declined. I was never into jocks that much, and now that I was involved with Professor Holden Moss, Earl had stopped trying.
It wasn’t that I averse to screwing a hunky football player every now and then, but I preferred sex with educated men. Okay, the truth was, I loved the idea of being The Teacher’s Pet—and no I did not consider that to be a psychology issue I had to deal with.
I loved being dominated, commanded, directed, coddled, being taken care of. And I loved giving as good as I got. I had always been attracted to smart men… brilliant men… teachers… professors... doctors… scientists… sorry, no lawyers (a girl has to have her standards). For some reason, the thought of sleeping with a lawyer just made my skin crawl.
Izzy turned the book over and grunted at the photo of the author on the back. “Mmmm mmm mmm… Now there’s a man I could do some damage to. Wynn Driver… wonder if he likes hot chocolate?”
“I’m sure he does,” I said with a smile. “From what Holden tells me, Wynn Driver loves women of all shapes, sizes, colors, ethnicities…”
She held up the book so I could see the photo of Wynn and tapped a long fingernail to the book. “Wait a sec, this is your man’s best friend? The one you told me about? Rich dude, lives on the beach in California? Used to teach psychology here at Midwestern?”
“Yes, that is the Wynn Driver that Holden is always talking about,” I said with a nod. “They’ve been best friends since their freshman year at college. I think Wynn was sleeping on Holden’s couch when he landed that book deal and got stinking rich.”
“I think I saw him on Ellen,” Izzy said, narrowing her eyes at the handsome face in the tiny photo. “So, this is the man who will fuck anything with a pulse,” she said, pressing two fingers to her wrist. “Well… lookee here… I just happen to have a pulse… And a thinking vagina…”
“I never said that he would fuck anything with a pulse.” Izzy was wearing a pair of black lace panties and a tee-shirt with no bra. It was her usual attire when we were home alone. I glanced at her long legs stretched out in front of her, feet on the coffee table, ankles crossed, and poked her with an elbow. “But I’m pretty sure he’d be all up in your hot chocolate bidness.”
“Well, my hot chocolate bidness might just have to let him come all up in here if he ever comes to town.”
“He’s coming into town later tonight,” I said. I could hear the anticipation in my voice. If Wynn was half the man Holden proclaimed him to be, it might prove to be quite an interesting weekend.
“That man right there is coming here? What for? Why would anyone escape this shitty little town and come back?”
“He’s speaking at the psyche conference this weekend. He’s staying at Holden’s for a few days.” I nodded at the book. “That’s why I’m reading that book, to get an idea of who he is and what he’s all about.”
“Well, my vagina is thinking that maybe he can check your vagina’s pulse while he’s here,” Izzy said. “Or check your internal temperature with his big, thick thermometer cock.”
“How do you know he has a big, thick thermometer cock?” I giggled at the concept of Wynn Driver taking my internal temperature with his cock, which Holden swore was nearly a foot long. The thought made the juices between my legs start to flow.
“Look at those eyes,” Izzy said, holding up the book. “Man looks at you like that, it means he has a big cock to back that shit up.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Hey, you said him and Holden were gangbangers.”
“I said they had done three-ways before. I never called them gangbangers.”
“You say three-way, I say gangbang,” she said, her dark eyes dancing with delight. “I’ve never been gangbanged myself. Wonder what it would be like. Having two cocks going at you at once. How does that even work? One in your mouth and one in your pussy, like book ends? Or one in your pussy and one in your ass… Lordy… talk about a tight fit…”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” I said with a sigh, even though I had wondered—and dreamt of—the same thing myself several times since learning that Wynn was coming to visit.
“Am I asking the wrong person, really?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What does that mean?”
She shrugged one shoulder and flipped more pages. She wasn’t reading. She was just avoiding looking at me. “Well, it’s just that, you know, out of everyone I know you are the most… shall we say… experimental and open when it comes to sex?”
“So?”
“So, if the opportunity to do the nasty with your boyfriend and his best friend came up, would you say yes, or would you say no?”
“Holden is not my boyfriend.”
“You’re avoiding the question.” She turned sideways on the sofa and tucked her long legs beneath her. She poked me in the arm with a stiff finger. “Come on, Jude, fess up. If Holden Moss and Wynn Driver wanted to do double duty on that cute, tight ass of yours, would you say yes, or would you say no?”
“I’d say that was none of your business,” I said with a smile.
She gave me a “point proven” smile in return. “See. I thought so. Whoo, girl, I see some gangbangin’ in your future. Just don’t let them two big cocks stretch you out at once. That pussy might never be the same.”
“Whatever,” I said, forcing a smile. Izzy was right. It was true that Holden and Wynn had double-teamed lots of girls. Holden had told me stories about their adventures that got me so worked up I literally raped him on the spot. And I’d be lying if I said the thought of having sex with both of them at once had not entered my mind on more than one occasion. I loved having mad sex with Holden, but we were two consenting adults who were not caught up in petty jealousy or commitment. We fucked each other lik
e breeder rabbits, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t fuck others, as well.
“You’re awful,” I said, trying to tug the book from her hands. She pulled the book away and clutched it between her mounding breasts. “And you’re also full of shit.”
“How am I full of shit?” I asked.
“What’s your vagina really thinking, Jude?” she asked with a sly grin. “Lord knows the poor thing has been working overtime since you took up with Professor Holden Moss. Is there room in there for this Dr. Wynn Driver dude?” She leaned over and lowered her voice. “One big cock in your pussy and another in your ass? Mmmm mmm good…”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Jeez, Izzy, stop!”
“Who knows,” she said, head bobbing, eyebrows arched. “Maybe they have a third buddy who could shove his cock in your mouth while they’re going at you from the other end. What would you call that? A four way? A quadruple fuck? What?”
“Izzy! You’re awful. Stop it!”
“You stop it,” she said, holding out the book with Wynn’s picture showing. “Hell, if you won’t fuck them both maybe I will.”
I snorted a laugh and snatched the book from her hands. “Oh yeah, and then Earl will kill both of them.”
“Might be worth it,” she said, smacking her lips. “Two big cocks at once. My, my, my what a lovely way to go!”
Yes indeed, I thought as I stared at the photo of Wynn Driver, with the image of Holden Moss clearly in my mind.
What a way to go.
CHAPTER FOUR: Professor Holden Moss
I’d been sleeping with (I suppose that is the politically-correct term these days) Jude Allen for a few weeks when I found out for sure that my best friend in the world, Wynn Driver, was coming back to town. Actually, I was the one largely responsible for bringing him back to Midwestern. The real surprise was that he was willing to take time out of his Hollywood lifestyle to come back and visit those poor souls he left behind at Midwestern.
