The young girl gasped, but she didn’t pull away. It seemed, in fact, as if she were doing something behind her back. I smirked. The little minx was stroking Carlos’s cock, hoping no one would notice.
Carlos began rolling her nipples between his fingers, tugging and twisting them until Emma began squirming and moaning.
‘Very nice,’ I murmured.
I glanced at Danny, who stared at the scene with a mixture of anger and envy. His erection poked from the top of Emma’s panties, threatening to rip the thin fabric. He realised I was looking at him and started toward the embracing couple as if he intended to pull Emma away.
‘Ian, would you please restrain Danny? I’m afraid he can’t control himself.’
Ian grabbed a resisting Danny and pulled his arms behind his back, mirroring Emma’s pose. ‘Watch it, little boy. Don’t forget, I’m gay. I might decide to fuck you if you don’t play nice.’
The girl closest to me said, ‘He might like that.’
Several girls nodded in agreement. Danny immediately stopped struggling and stood there quietly in his girlfriend’s panties, watching her being fondled by another man.
‘Good, Danny,’ I soothed. ‘I think you’ll appreciate the next part of this presentation.’
Carlos was still pinching and squeezing Emma’s nipples and she made no attempt to pull away. In fact, she rested her head on Carlos’s shoulder, thrusting her breasts more fully into his hands.
‘Oh, I wish that was me,’ one of the girls said. ‘You love it, don’t you, Emma?’
Emma nodded, lost in sensation.
When I realised Emma couldn’t take it any longer, I nodded to Carlos. ‘Put her on your lap.’
He easily lifted the girl onto his lap so that her legs were on the outside of his and she was spread open. A collective gasp went up from the class at the image they presented: Emma straddling Carlos so that her pink, glistening pussy was poised just above his massive erection.
‘Now, ladies, this is the moment where life becomes art. Imagine how you would capture such a scene, what strokes you would use, what colours you would blend to achieve your desired effect,’ I instructed softly. ‘Carlos, you may do whatever you feel would be most effective in demonstrating this lesson.’
Around the room, a dozen pairs of eyes were riveted on the two naked forms in front of us. We held our collective breaths while Emma shifted impatiently, anxious for what only Carlos could give her.
‘Please,’ Emma whispered. ‘Please.’
Carlos reached around her narrow waist and stroked the delicate folds of her engorged pussy. Her eyes fluttered closed as she gasped, pushing against Carlos’s exploring fingers. He slid first one, then two, thick digits between her tender folds and she moaned.
Next to me, Ian said, ‘Don’t you wish that was you, little guy? Don’t you wish you were playing with your girl’s puss right now?’
Danny whimpered pathetically and I almost felt sorry for him.
I expected Carlos to substitute his throbbing erection for the fingers in Emma’s pussy, but the horny young girl surprised me. She reached down between her spread thighs and stroked the thick cock that was so close to her pussy.
‘Please,’ she said again. ‘I need this. Please.’
Carlos obeyed the minx’s wishes and covered her hand with his. Together, they guided his cock into her juicy cunt, stretching the lips wide with the meaty head. She gasped and grunted, her large breasts heaving, as she took him inside her. With excruciating slowness, Carlos’s cock slid into her inch by impressive inch, until she could accommodate no more.
With his arms under her thighs for support, Carlos spread her wide on his cock for the entire class to see. He then lifted her up, his cock emerging from her cunt, glistening with the evidence of her arousal. The girls gasped appreciatively and I knew every pussy in the room was wet with desire, including my own.
With incredible restraint, Carlos carefully and slowly lowered Emma back onto his cock until she was once again impaled. Sweat glistened on his brow and I knew he was dying to fuck the girl hard, fuck her like no man had ever fucked such a beauty.
Emma cupped and kneaded her own breasts, her head thrown back against Carlos’s shoulder as she moaned, ‘More, more!’
Carlos began fucking the girl hard, raising and lowering her on his cock until she writhed and moaned. She clutched at her own body, twisting her nipples, scratching her thighs, and gyrating her cunt on the thick cock inside her. She was no longer a dedicated young art student; she was a wanton beauty, a sex-hungry slut.
‘I’m going to come!’ she screamed, announcing her impending orgasm to the room. ‘Fuck me, fuck me hard!’
‘Emma!’ The name sounded as if it was ripped painfully from Danny’s throat. ‘What are you doing?’
She looked at him, through him, so caught up in the sensations of her body she could barely seem to focus. ‘I’m getting fucked, Danny. I’m getting fucked,’ she gasped.
Carlos drove his cock up into her with such force the stool rocked. He held her in his powerful arms and fucked her senseless, groaning in masculine desire. Danny struggled in Ian’s powerful arms, whimpering pitifully.
‘Watch her get fucked, Danny,’ I taunted the boy. ‘See how she loves his big cock inside her? You can’t do that for her.’
Two things happened almost simultaneously: Carlos came, deep inside Emma’s tight cunt and Danny came, in Emma’s pretty pink panties. Both men groaned, but only Carlos had the satisfaction of feeling Emma’s wet cunt surround him as she squeezed his cock in post-orgasmic bliss. He held her to him as he slowly softened and slipped free of her beautiful body, leaving a trail of glistening wetness behind.
The pair cuddled on the stool as the class applauded.
‘That was beautiful, simply beautiful,’ I said. I looked at Danny, who was staring in misery at the wet spot his over-excited dick had left on Emma’s panties. ‘Don’t you agree this was a beautiful piece of performance art, Danny?’
Danny looked at me, torn between humiliation and a need for approval. ‘Um, yeah, I can see that.’
I shook my head, disgusted with Danny and determined to get him thrown out of the art program. I met Emma’s gaze from across the room and she smiled radiantly, mouthing two simple words.
‘Thank you.’
Heels, Stockings, Girdle, Bra, Face
by Jeremy Edwards
I couldn’t understand why you suggested we meet tonight at the empty condo that your sister is in the middle of renovating. You said you wanted to give me a ‘tour’. Now that I’ve arrived, I understand what kind of tour you meant. A tour of you, not the condo. The condo is just a convenient, distraction-free setting – with a big-ass air conditioner in the middle of the floor. Nice. But I shouldn’t scoff. With you standing dramatically atop it in your lingerie, the air conditioner in the middle of the floor is nice.
Heels
I’ll start with the least important. And, since you will insist on standing atop an out-of-commission air conditioner, the first stratum of your accoutrements to meet my eye.
Those black heels.
I call them ‘heels’, but in actuality they are entire shoes. You, on the other hand, call them stilettos.
I’m not the kind of guy to over-glamorize heels. Women can be sexy as all get-out without them – barefoot, for example. I don’t think anyone should feel pressured to wear heels, if they’re impractical or uncomfortable or bad for their feet.
But if you feel like wearing them, then far be it from me to argue. Far be it from me, in fact, to resist ogling them on you. Yes, I admit I very much like the way they position the erotic structure of your sassy feet. The glossy black texture is the perfect trim for your stockings. I do hope, by the way, that the ‘leather’ is synthetic; I want you to be the only animal in those shoes. Rrrrr!
You’ve explained that they are too high, technically, to qualify as ‘fuck-me’ heels. I maintain that any heel worn by you, standing in lingerie on a
n air conditioner, is a ‘fuck-me’ heel. And I intend to prove it.
My favorite thing about these shoes is how you react when I slip a finger inside one of them and tickle your arch, with great delicacy, through the thin thickness of your stocking. You adore being gently tickled; you press your foot against my finger, wedging it tightly and inviting more sensuous strokes, while your musical giggles rain down from far above. I am looking forward to tickling your other places as well. You have so many places.
I imagine following you across a kitchen floor, as your heels go click click click click. You deliberately dead-end against the refrigerator, and I come to a stop with cushy precision, pressed against your own end, which is anything but dead. As I manage to give your ass a series of fabric caresses with my trouser front, I am conscious of the heels that elevate your rear cheeks to a perfect fondling height.
Of course, at the moment, since you’re posed atop an air conditioner, your behind is out of reach. It is a goal I shall later attain. For the moment, though, I caress your ankles.
You can’t give much lateral motion to your feet in these stilettos, but I can detect your erotic tension throbbing inside the shoes. My titillations travel silently, by means of your nervous system, up your legs to your pussy, whence sexual signals pulsate back down the stocking highway to your blushing feet. It arouses me to feel your passion burn against my fingers, way down here in your sexy shoes.
Though you’re standing on an air conditioner, I visualize you in a comfortable seat in a shoe department, and I visualize myself as the shoe salesman. I am fitting you for these black heels, easily coaxing the right shoe onto your foot, while you smile at me. Your foot fits the shoe like my cock fits your cunt – the tightness is pleasant but not excessively constraining, the sensation of flesh against the comfortable inner walls is luxurious, and sensuous wiggling is most encouraged. I hold your foot, in the shoe, in my hand, and gently work your heel in my palm, testing you for snugness.
As I return from this daydream, I smell woman in the air, and it is then that I notice that you have no panties on beneath your open bottom girdle, and that I have a clear view.
Stockings
Your bare legs are deliciously smooth, but when you encase them in these black stockings they become impossibly smooth. Physicists tell us that a body in motion will, in the absence of friction, travel forever. This is what your legs now promise me – an infinite journey. Accordingly, they seem to stretch on endlessly, seen from my vantage point below. And yet, there is a clear place where the stockings end, and the legs become legs no more, but skin-fresh upper thighs. Above the dark stocking tops, I know we’re in a region that’s close enough to your pussy to have elements of its flavour – just as the air within a few miles of the ocean has an unmistakable seaside tang.
Your legs, in these stockings, appear like twin columns, a portico that proclaims the entrance to some hallowed place. I don’t think I need to elaborate on this. Suffice it to say that, as I stand at the base of your air conditioner mountain, I feel like I’m looking up at a glorious secular temple – a library, an observatory, or a museum. Then I smell your fragrance again, and suddenly I’m more inclined to compare you to a fine restaurant. I’m eager to park and claim my reservation.
But I feel like I could stroke your legs all night, while they remain in these stockings. The nylon makes an almost-inaudible hum against my fingers. (Is this what a zither sounds like? A gentle ‘Zzzzz’? It ought to be.) As I stroke up and down, up and down your leg, my cock feels like you are stroking up and down, up and down, its length. Do you notice how I begin to dance in place as I pet you? That’s my arousal dancing through me, my dear, as you knew it would when you dressed yourself in these impossibly-smooth stockings that point me to your cunt. I can travel up whichever leg I like – they both lead to the same place. (All roads lead to Rome.)
Fabric and flesh – a contrast of both textures and colours. Your skin happens to be pale, so the contrast lies in the interplay of your white thighs and your black stockings. The nylon is synthetic, and you, of course, are deliciously organic – another contrast. The stockings have a uniform hue and tone that do not change, whereas your upper thighs grow slightly pinker as our situation arouses you, and their texture becomes, in places, slightly slick with a discreet trickle of lubrication from above. Yes, I can see them from here, places on the private side of your picture-frame of thighs where the light sparkles just so, dancing with your stickiness in a rhythm that I mimic with my gentle samba of male horniness.
I’m at the point where I feel the compulsion to take further action. I can reach your stocking-tops and the garter clips that attach them to your girdle, and I unfasten each clip, caressing you behind your knees all the while. Then I peel you like a fruit, slithering each stocking down and following its progress with a trail of kisses along and around the corresponding leg. The sudden nakedness of each leg shouts at me – to see them uncovered feels, at this moment, more boldly carnal and explicit than looking straight into your pussy lips on a typical Friday night.
It’s not practical to remove your shoes, so I leave the stockings bunched around your ankles. You look so happily exposed now, my smiling, bare-legged, bunched-stocking girl. Oh, how I’m going to fuck you.
Girdle
When you told me about the garment you’d purchased, my tongue was probably hanging out in anticipation. Red silk (PANTONE 192) all over your ass . . . peekaboo laces to commemorate where your butt cheeks meet . . . the hem open like the bell of a trumpet, so that your pussy can feel the delight of every warm breeze and invite wandering fingers (either yours or mine, depending on whose are handy). What more could I ask for from an article of lingerie?
Well, I could ask that you save it for a special occasion – which you did. I could ask that you invite me to inaugurate it with you – which you have. Mine shall be the first fingertips that stroke the silk across your firm cheeks and sturdy mound. Mine shall be the first thumbs that fumble with its laces, in my haste to unwrap you. Mine shall be the first drop of pre-cum that streaks across the smooth feminine fabric, while I press myself against you.
The girdle fits you almost like gym shorts, so tight against your tight but womanly but tight but feminine little ass. It grips you like I want to. Now I climb onto the air conditioner with you to do so. Here at your level, I will squeeze your cushion in its silk pillowcase, unthread its laces and lick across the pillowy flesh in broad, sensuous strokes . . . left cheek, then right cheek, etc. You get the idea.
Ah, but before I do that, I must take advantage of the open girdle’s opening. Your legs part and my face enters the cosy place within your silken tepee. While you stand open for me in your open bottom girdle, I tongue the parts of you that panties would have concealed. I will make you so glad you’re not wearing panties, darling. Perhaps you’ll talk to me about the advantages of going without panties while I lick and lick you, explaining to me between heavy breaths how what I’m doing and what you’re feeling make a strong case for the panty-free approach to lingerie.
Just the name ‘open bottom girdle’ makes me drool. These words seem to positively proclaim your interest in having me visit pleasure upon your feminine regions. ‘Open bar’ means unlimited drinks. ‘Open road’ means limitless horizons. ‘Open door’ means opportunities await within; no need to knock. And ‘open bottom girdle’ means my head between your thighs. This garment was made for you . . . for us.
Its hem feels so delicate between my fingers. Yet I am clutching it firmly, like I might hold onto the corners of waxed paper while I devour a many-layered sandwich. I am about to make a meal of you, and you’re even generating your own sweet condiment. I can literally taste your excitement.
It feels intimate and joyfully secret to know that the orgasm you’re having is happening inside your girdle. I’m right in there with you, dancing with your cunt, miles above your distant heels, which rock sensuously as you writhe. I love feeling like an insider, where female orgasms are conc
erned. I could stay in here all day, lips to your lips, listening to your thighs reverberate with pleasure as they clamp against my ears.
I feel an extra spasm jolt through your thighs as my fingertips once again find the space between the laces on your ass. It’s as if there’s a direct erotic line from your ass crack to your clit, an express train of pleasure that makes my caress at your rear trigger juicy ecstasy in my face, quicker than lightning.
Bra
I’ve never thought of myself as a ‘breast man’. But there are breasts and there are breasts. Anyway, it’s the woman behind the breasts that really makes a pair of breasts exciting. In this instance, the breasts are modest in size, aesthetic in curvature, and flirtatious in attitude. And the woman behind them is . . . you. If clutching these breasts will make pleasure course through your sweet little body, then I am all about clutching these breasts. And how could I resist, for that matter? They fit perfectly in my hands. They have a fresh, gentle, fleshy fragrance. And they’re displayed in a classic black lace bra.
Whoever figured out that black lace sets off white breasts deserves the applause of the generations. The opaque leaves play across the hazy, breast-flesh background like blue designs on white china. It drives me wild to know that the background of the lace design is, in fact, your soft, round flesh, the flesh of a zone so erogenous that my merest touch or tickle makes fruit juice moisten your sex lips. And when I touch a nipple, it’s like I’ve pressed a button that sends you rocketing into feminine joys that are impossible to conceive. I can’t wait to be inside you, clutching you from ass to shoulders, these lace-wrapped breasts pushing themselves against me like puppies, your head thrown back as if all your being were consumed in a nurturing bath of pleasure.
Whip Me Page 4
