by Violet Veidt
"Turn over." She complied, arching her back and presenting her moistened, hungry cunt to him, surmounted by her well lubed arse. He made her wait a little longer for the coup de grace. She thought she could hear him walking across the room for something, but was so blissed out that she could barely make sense of the limited sensations he permitted her.
She purred loudly when she felt the dense heat of his cock up against her tight hole. She relaxed, allowing him fully inside her. She was seasoned at giving him pleasure with that part of her, so less easing in was required. She felt deliciously dirty when she felt how easily he penetrated her.
She suddenly opened her eyes under the blindfold. She could feel another pressure, at the opening of her cunt. She closed her eyes again at the sensation of the strap on sliding deep inside her cunt, squeezing against his cock sheathed in her arse. He moaned at the tightness of sensation, as he filled her to the brim. She gasped when both cocks were inside her to the hilt. He proceeded, fucking her with a lazy, unhurried rhythm. The sensation of her tight, grippy arsehole around his cock, together with the strap on she had penetrated him with the night before, sliding against his own cock through the slender membrane separating them, was absolutely delicious. For her part, her mind was emptied of all thought apart from the awareness of how full she was. His hands slid around, swirling again on her clit and pinching down painfully on her left nipple, always the more sensitive. She gritted her teeth as he went on lazily fucking her, withdrawing the attentions to her clit and nipple just as she needed them most, returning them when she expected them least. He felt moisture on his thighs, and withdrew momentarily, relishing the view of her moisture wetting his legs and leaving a slick sheen on her skin. Fucking her arse always made her pussy so incredibly wet, so that it more than easily accommodated the thick dildo.
“I want to suck you...” she murmured through her gasps.
He pulled out and presented the dildo to her, slick with her cunt juices, and brushed it against her lips. She eagerly took it into her mouth, sucking herself off it, moving up to his balls, similarly smeared with her fluids, before experimentally licking the broad base of his dick. He held his breath. They had never done this before. Before his astonished eyes, his beautiful blindfolded wife took his cock in her mouth. He had to close his eyes in short order to stave off an orgasm, but once he had collected himself, he watched her, fixing every detail of the image into his head. Her cascading red locks, her lips tightly wrapped around his hard cock, the dildo, lubed with her cum and saliva thrusting between her upthrust tits. He doubted he'd need to watch porn again for a while.
She swirled her tongue around his opening, collecting his precum, and then withdrew, breathing on his dick, mimicking the way he had teased her earlier. However, he welcomed it: he needed a moment to gather himself― though he could have cum any moment, he wanted to draw out this perfect moment with his beloved, beautiful redheaded slut for as long as he possibly could. He could barely believe that she was his, married to him forever.
He returned his cock to her arse, the dildo to her cunt, and his hands to their accustomed places. She writhed in his arms, biting at her finger, making little squeaking noises in her throat. He let her cum, feeling her tense every muscle at once, then shudder in orgasm, squirting her fluid over his hand, going limp in his arms. He let her fall onto the bed, thrusting his cock roughly into her mouth. She sucked on it only briefly before he came too, his cum splatting over her face, tits, and belly. He fell back, completely spent. After a time he opened his eyes sleepily and ginned at her. She rolled into his arms, burying her head in the nook between shoulder and cheek and inhaling his scent, which was as intoxicating to her as fine wine.
They couldn’t wait for the rest of their life.
Bending over the Rugby Boy
Mark played fly half on his university’s rugby team, and lived and breathed the sport. The fly half coordinates strategy as the game progresses, and apart from speed and strength, needs the ability to make tactical decisions, as the name suggests, on the fly. He had a reputation for arrogance, often flying on instinct, but his gambles paid off often enough to earn him respect. He loved match days, getting up at the crack of dawn, piling into the bus with the team, playing the game he loved and then drinking until first light the next day.
Usually, he could expect some pussy at the end of the night. The girls in university bars, whose eyes slid over him, evaluating his muscular build, usually liked what they saw. The ones he pulled typically wanted to be dominated, which he had no issue with. He loved wrapping a girls soft hair round his fingers and pulling her head back as he fucked her from behind, letting him pull out, stand and cum over her face. Apart from his famous screw kick, he considered that his signature move.
The union bar was strangely deserted for a Saturday. Exam season falls in late spring. When the world is coming back into life, the trees bursting into feathery bud, birds singing songs of love and war, students barricade themselves in bedrooms with curtains drawn to prevent the sun glaring on laptop screens, or deep in windowless libraries which open around the clock. Mark had never been one to let his academic responsibilities get in the way of his social career though, and he felt disappointment that his teammates lacked the same dedication. However, the bar wasn’t completely empty.
She sat in one of the booths, by herself; but didn’t seem to be waiting for anybody. Her hair was platinum blonde, swept up in a messy bun. The blondeness seemed genuine, judging by her pale eyebrows and lashes and blue eyes. She wore a black tank top which showed off her ivory skin and excellent rack. Mark stared at her until he had made eye contact, then smiled at her. He was a fan of the direct approach. She stood; her hips flared out from her waist in an exaggerated hourglass, emphasised by the tight jeans she wore. She jerked her head, indicating he should follow him to the smokers’ terrace. He whooped with glee internally; he was in. He felt in his pocket for cigarettes and found a pack. He didn’t smoke often, as a sportsman, but the social advantages were unignorable. Besides, chicks who smoked always turned out to be sluttier. He followed her outside.
She stood with her back to the door, and, unexpectedly, lit a cigar, flaming around the end to ensure an even burn. He sidled up, put a hand on the small of his back and held his Marlboro out.
“Got a light?”
She held out her Zippo, but before she flicked it, murmured:
“I should make myself clear: my appetites are not the same as normal women.”
“That’s fine by me.” he said. He couldn’t help smiling; this female was freaky. Now he could see her up close, she was definitely not his usual type. She had several piercings in her ears, a dark stone glinting under her full lower lip, and a tattoo peeking out of her tank top. The modifications somehow struck a different tone that they did on other girls, more like declarations of a deeper darkness than mere adornments. She took a deep draw of her cigar and exhaled, a smoke ring or two among the cloud, and clicked her lighter. It lit on the first try. Mark wondered if she had rehearsed this routine. He decided to see if he could catch her off balance. He leaned in for the light, but didn’t stop, brushing her lips against his. She stepped backwards, sharply.
“We play by my rules. Are you in or out?”
“What do you think?” He leered at her insolently, putting his second hand round her waist, the cigarette dangling from his lip. She finally smiled, then placed a hand on his stomach and pushed out of his grasp.
“Like I said, my rules.”
“Which are?”
“You’ll find out as we go along.”
“You’re lucky I feel like playing, cheeky bitch. So what’s your name?”
She didn’t answer immediately, taking another couple of puffs, evidently savouring the smoke on her tongue. Then she murmured, “Meleah.”
“I’m Mark. So, Meleah...” What an odd name. He hadn’t heard it before. It had a weird, exotic ring to it. “... How did you get into cigars?”
“My father owns
a tobacco plantation.” He had felt a bit left footed up to that point, uncomfortable despite his attraction, but her words put new resolve into him: a cigar magnate father was no bad thing at all, almost as good as a brewery owner. However, his discomfort didn’t ease enough that he knew what to say to her. He was used to an almost choreographed mating dance, the female following his suggestions and hints of how she should behave like a ballroom dancer obeying the leader’s touches and nudges. This woman... Meleah. She was different. Almost alien.
She turned to face him, and placed her hands on his waist, feeling the firmness of his core muscles under the poncy pink polo shirt he was masculine enough to pull off.
“Rugby player. Minor public school, bright, but at pains to appear non intellectual. Studies... PPE?”
She took his silence as an admission, and smiled, finally. She had a gap between her front teeth which he found bizarrely alluring. He became aware of the beginnings of an erection. She took his hand and led him down the street, still puffing on that damn cigar. He followed her, striding as fast as he could to keep up. She was half a head shorter than him, but she had some speed in those legs. He racked his brain to see if he could remember her at any of the Sport Union events, but came up blank. She walked hard and fast, every so often taking a draw of her cigar. The smoke had a clinging smell like cedar and old leather.
The city was built on several levels, with numerous little closes and stairways. Travelling through one of these unlit and mysterious corridors could transport one to a different area of the city, almost magically. It was one of these little nooks into which Mark was dragged. He started to wrap his arms round her but found himself pulled into his own lunge, pushed face first up against the wet rough wall, his arms crossed and pinned behind his back. Her hips and teeth dug into his arse and neck, her hands reaching under his shirt, raking through the hair and pinching at his nipples.
His first impulse was to push her away— she was strong but he was stronger— shout abuse at her, shove her... but instead he stayed against the wall, the smell of her in his nostrils. He heard squeaks and grunts of excitement, before he realised they came from him.
Alright, this is unusual. But he was still in control, he told himself. She was grinding up on his arse, alternating between teasing nibbles and sharp bites on his neck and ears.
She stopped suddenly, and continued walking along the alley, leaving him to follow the sway of her hips and the smoke trail from her cigar.
They arrived at her pad on a busy main street, in the commercial district. Mark knew that such accommodation couldn’t be cheap— an advantage of the cigar lord father, he supposed. She flicked her cigar butt away before opening the door and ushering him in. After climbing up to the top flat, she closed the door behind him, stood with her back to it and said:
“I need a shower. So do you.” He didn’t argue as she took his hand and led him to a well appointed bathroom, with a bath which looked as though it could accommodate at least three persons and a separate shower, the kind with extra jets in the walls.
She pulled off her singlet, then unbelted and unbuttoned her jeans. Beneath she wore a black lace bra and thong combination, cut high on the hips to emphasise her impressive proportions. Mark’s cock strained against his underwear.
“Strip.”
He complied, shocking himself at how easily this came to him. He pulled off his polo shirt, his tight physique coming into view. He always managed to burn off the endless pints of strong ale before they could obscure his eight pack abs. Her lopsided smile and the infinitesimal widening of her pupils indicated her approval of his broad shoulders and firm, strong chest. As she scrutinised his body, and he realised he enjoyed this role reversal. He had a great body, and he liked showing it off. He teasingly turned his back while he lowered his jeans, giving her a perfect view of his buttocks, and muscles rippling along his back. Jeans off, he turned back, grinning lewdly, expecting her to be ready to beg for the final reveal. Instead she raised her eyebrows, smiled faintly and stepped forward, and ran her nail down the midline of his torso, from the meeting of his clavicles to the trail of hair extending between his navel and the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Very nice.”
“Do you want to see the rest?” he replied, pulling down a bra stap with his finger and kissing the exposed flesh.
“In due course.” She leaned forward to kiss him, for the first time. She began lightly, teasingly, building up the pressure, until she was darting her sharp little tongue in and out his mouth. She clasped her hands around his waist and he reciprocated, then slid his hands down until they were on her bare buttocks. Her warm and smooth skin smelled and tasted of subtle tones of the fine cigars her father had gifted her. Though he definitely preferred what her mother had given her, he reflected as he slipped his fingers under the tiny string separating her round cheeks, stroking near to, but not quite touching her arsehole. He adored anal over all other manners of lovemaking and hoped he would be treated to this tonight.
She grabbed the wandering hand firmly by the wrist.
“Shower first.”
Holding his gaze, she reached behind her back and unclipped the bra. Her tits took his breath away, even larger than they had looked in her top and capped with pinkish brown nipples. He reached out to touch them but she slapped his wrist.
“Rule one: no touching unless I tell you.”
He took his hand back, shocked again by how natural it felt to follow her instruction. She smiled and rewarded his compliance by removing her thong. Her mound was furred thickly, but trimmed to a manageable level, a tantalising peek of pink between her outer lips. She stepped into the shower and turned out the jets. In the next instant, her body gleamed in the lights, water emphasising every facet of her body. He noticed that her arms and legs showed signs of muscle; still femininely soft, but with unignorable strength.
“Now take those off and join me.” She took a bottle of shower gel from a shelf and poured some into her palms. He pulled down the waistband, his cock bobbing as it sprang free. Precum flowed freely from its slit. She reached out and touched a finger to his tip, and put it to her lips, a string of fluid stretching out between cock and finger briefly, then breaking. She smiled again, almost tenderly.
“How lovely my plaything tastes.” Was that what he was? Her plaything? He felt like he’d gotten in too deep, far outside his comfort zone, but he also felt an irresistible urge to follow her orders— to see how far this peculiar, terrifying, beautiful woman could take him. He’d never really been topped before; but now he wondered, in some corner of his mind that wasn’t under her spell, whether he’d really been dominating those girls or acting out his fantasies. It was a thought he’d always suppressed before, but now, as he stepped into the warm spray, felt her hands lathering up his chest and arms, it seemed like the most obvious and natural thing in the world.
“Turn.” He stood with his back to her, closing his eyes, and savouring the feeling of the spray on his sweaty skin, and her hands on his body. He felt her lathering every inch of him; save those that hung between his legs. She ran her hands on both sides of one thigh, then the other, allowing the side jets to rinse him clean. She repeated this process a few times, teasing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, until he felt like the merest touch on his cock would make him explode. Then his eyes shot open as he felt her fingers trace up the cleft of his buttocks, touching his arsehole. He stood stock still as she applied more shower gel and took down the shower head to spray him thoroughly clean there. The pressure of the water on his opening felt incredible.
“Ah... fuck...” he moaned, having a dry orgasm from the stimulating his prostate was receiving from the shower and her fingers slipping over his perineum.
“You came? Good. So responsive...” He didn’t answer, not knowing quite what to know, or think. He had cum, but still didn’t feel satisfied, and moreover from attentions to his arse. Sure, he’d stuck a finger up there the odd time when he had a wank, but someho
w this was different, as though she wanted his primary erotic focus to shift from his cock to his hole. He tingled, feeling himself slip a little deeper down the rabbit hole, and then wailed as she grabbed his achingly sensitive cock with one hand, and switched off the shower with the other.
He could hardly not follow her to the bathroom cabinet, from which she took some fluffy white towels. She wrapped one round her hair, and handed another to him, which wrapped round his waist. The pressure didn’t decrease his awareness of how heavy and sensitive he still felt, but made him feel less like he might jizz all over her at any moment. She handed him a third towel.
“Dry me.” He unfolded the towel, unsure how to start, then decided to go from top to bottom. He ran the towel around her neck, and patted it to gently absorb the moisture. Then he moved on to her shoulders, and gave them the same treatment. Reverently, he covered her breasts and softly rubbed the towel over them. Though the towel was new and not rough at all, it still generated friction on her nipples which she found apparently agreeable, judging by the choked sounds coming from her throat. He moved down to her hips, wrapping the towel around her body and rubbing gently, before drying each leg in turn. Drops of water still clung to her pubic hair, but he felt shy to touch her there without permission. He looked up, questioning. She smiled down, and nodded.
“Yes, you may. But no towel.” He understood immediately and buried his face in her like a starving dog. She had rinsed away all her odour, but his lips and tongue and fingers, first stroking her mound, then parting her lips to allow his tongue to dart between, made her dew flow again. He moaned at the taste of her, a concentration of the perfume of her skin, with a muskiness which made him feel like an animal on a taut, straining leash. He wrapped his lips round her clit and sucked on it, and slid his fingers inside her a little. She clenched around his fingers strongly, those delicious little choked moans revealing how much she enjoyed and needed this.
