“Mmmmm….. I can’t wait.” He fingered her emerald necklace. “Remember when I got you this?”
“Paris,” Selena said. “I love Paris. And I love you.”
“Where’s Carlos while you’re with me here at the theatre?”
“Your mom’s babysitting for us. Our son is so like you – you don’t even know how much...”
Another rap on the door and the stage manager’s voice was telling everyone ‘places’. The maestro kissed his wife one final time, then left her in the dressing room and closed the door behind him.
Selena went to one of the vases of red roses and picked up a small photo of the three of them together, all bundled up on the Austrian ski slopes one year before.
Our son looks like a little him.
Selena sighed, then slowly pulled on her clothes, barely making it back to her seat, two rows from the front, before the lights dimmed. She sat through the second act, staring at the maestro and playing with her sparkling necklace of emeralds and gold, looking at the man she loved, along with their son, more than life itself.
Fucking For Charity
The sun splashed against the hills and bled through the windows. Alex stared at the horizon and poured his first cup of coffee, rubbing his hand on his dick and smoothing the rock hard bulge in his boxers.
I need to fuck something.
Alex crossed the room, trying to ignore the ache in his dick. He sat at his desk and stared at his computer, scrolling through the long line of 300 or so emails that waited for him each morning.
Fucking Lisa.
He needed her for more than swallowing loads.
He took a sip of coffee and ran a hand through his dark brown hair. Alex was frustrated: in his head, in his dick, and right in the middle of his fucking heart. He was going crazy in the two-bedroom house he once shared with his cheating whore of an ex-wife, who now haunted him in every room or horizontal surface – chosen by her and stained by him. “Hope you’re happy with the wrinkly dicked bastard, you fucking slut,” Alex shook his fist at the walls. “Have fun waiting for the old fucker to die.”
The doorbell rang. “Now who in the fuck is at my door at seven in the morning?”
Carrie took a final look at herself in the rearview mirror, even spent a while looking at herself like she knew she deserved, then slipped her black, stocking-clad leg out the car door. As she shifted her weight for the other to follow, her laced ass kissed the cool morning air beneath her short, black business skirt – the perfect outfit for making collections.
She was seeing one of her male donators today, and even first-year girls knew that checks were always bigger when you looked like a sexy, young version of the secretary they wished they had in their office, or had had once upon a sexy yesterday. Charity funds at The Lowered Rope Foundation had taken a dive along with the economy; Carrie would use all she had to get everything she could.
She glanced at her clipboard. “Mr. Alex Holland,” she whispered, trying to get a clear picture in her head of the self-starting entrepreneur with medium-depth pockets and a weak spot for the charity’s open bars, especially since his recent divorce.
Carrie loosened one more button on her white dress shirt – just enough to let the line of her supple tits peek from within, then buttoned her black coat one button higher. Her tall black heels clicked onto the stoop in front of the small house, just as the unexpected song of, “…you slut!” sang from somewhere inside the house.
“Oh fuck, tell me he doesn’t have a woman here he’s fighting with,” Carrie thought, her hand wavering at the doorbell. There was another grumbling she couldn’t quite hear, then footsteps quickly moving toward the door.
He opened the door and Carrie took an involuntary step back. His dark brown hair was a tangle, his muscles tight as if ready for a fight. The bulge in his boxers was a pointing finger, thick and angry; its intent and girth sent an unexpected flash to Carrie’s damp box.
“Can I help you?” he sneered, looking her over as if she were selling sex and religion together.
“Mr. Holland,” she smiled, leaning ever so slightly forward. “I’m Carrie Strolove. We met at the Lowered Rope Foundation dinner last week. I’m here to speak with you about the pledge you made. If you have just a few moments, I would love to discuss the importance of a contribution to Lowered Rope, and what it would mean to our organization and the people that we help.”
“Oh. Um ...” Alex stammered, trying to remember the face at the door.
And then he did.
Carrie had been the charity’s liaison promoting their new “convenience check pick-up service.” The memory of her body wrapped in black silk brought the pain back to his dick, and then smashed it with a hammer.
He stood in the doorway throbbing, looking her over as she stood there in black stockings racing up under her short black skirt, a hint of lace where everything met. Her ample, natural tits teased his weary eyes.
He stepped from the doorway, almost close enough for her to feel the throb of his cock, then breathed, “Yes, of course. Come right in.”
“Thank you.”
He led her through the foyer, past an antique vanity, to a tall-backed chair just inside the living room. The room was small, but cozy, and still bore the bitch’s touch. “Have a seat.” He breathed her scent and made sure she knew it.
She sat on the edge of the chair, clip board on her lap, pretending she was about to read something important, instead of continuing to tease his titty fucker like she was.
He took the matching seat across from her and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching her pretend to read the papers on her lap.
Another bitch wanting money.
He wondered whether her pussy was shaved or hairy. Then he wondered how much longer he’d have to wait to find out.
The thought was sharp enough to puncture his restraint. Between his throbbing, hard dick rubbing on his thighs and her sitting there with one mouth, two tits, and the city of gold underneath, Alex lost control.
“So tell me, Miss – or is it Mrs. – Strolove?”
“Miss.” She said with a smile, still looking over her papers.
“Alright then, Miss Strolove, tell me how I can help you, or rather, how you can help me.” A wolfish smile wrinkled his face. Her eyes snapped to his, then quickly back to her papers.
Alex stood, crossed the room in four steps, then grabbed her clipboard and flicked his gaze down it, though far too fast to really see anything. “Engrossing stuff you have here…”
He saw his name highlighted with the amount $25,000.00 beside it, then threw the clipboard against the floor, where it skidded all the way to the wall.
“Well, as you know, our organization helps needy children in cities all over the country get afterschool care while their parents…” He derailed her train of thought. She looked up, caught by his stare. She slowly found it again, “… are working long hours.”
Her mouth was dry; she couldn’t swallow. He towered above her, staring at her with his piercing green eyes.
“Miss Strolove, I know what your organization does.” Alex leaned down with a hand on either arm of the chair, then lowered himself until she was trapped and their eyes were even.
“I…” she cleared her throat, “I was just trying to explain how valuable you are to us… and… we want you to know that any contribution you can make would be extremely helpful in providing the services we offer.”
Carrie wasn’t even sure if she was making sense.
He shampooed with rosemary and mint, and washed with vanilla. And the Good Lord had been great to his body, but the gym was even better.
His eyes had moved from her gaze to her tits. Mr. Holland suddenly shifted his body, placing his knee on the chair between her thighs, then spread them so his knee met her hips.
“Any contribution?” he smiled.
Her heart was racing, but pumping blood to all the wrong places. The lace between her thighs was sopped, and she bit back a whimper. She willed her body to r
etreat. His smile made her wonder if he knew how wet she was.
Carrie pulled herself straight, then pushed his knee from between her legs.
Holland laughed, as his hand suddenly went snaking between her tits, fondling her under her shirt until she moaned. Two of his fingers twisted around her hard nipple, then Carrie felt a sharp pleasure as he rolled it between his finger and thumb.
She pushed at his arm, trying to free herself, but her body melted at the warmth of his hand. “Mr. Holland….” she started, barely any breath in her voice.
“Do they teach you what to wear when you go collecting money? Or did you get that training in another profession?” he mocked her, twisting her nipple harder.
She was sucking air as he twisted her nipple, desperately clinging to the last drop of professionalism she had left. “Please…”
“I’ve had it with you women who think you can get money by showing up in my life, teasing my dick, then taking my money and running.”
His breath accelerated and his knee inched toward her pussy, until it slapped the damp wall of her panties, and the sides of her sticky inner thighs. Her body reacted and her mind did nothing to stop it.
Carrie’s soaking slit hummed in desire.
Alex squeezed her nipple harder. Her body twisted and her back arched.
He pulled her from the chair and slammed her into the wall. Her shoe made a hollow plunk as it slapped the hardwood floor.
With one hand Alex pushed her face against the wall while the other tore at her jacket and blouse, ripping buttons and spilling flesh.
He ran a rough finger between her tits. Alex could see from the expression on her face that she knew she shouldn’t be doing what she was about to do, but also that she wouldn’t do much if anything to stop him.
She looked almost frightened when Alex grabbed the front of her black lace bra, flipping the clasp on the front with expert hands, but her eyes rolled to the back of her head when her nipples drop into his hungry mouth.
He tore at them, bit them, and flipped his tongue against their hardness.
Desire swallowed her body and spit out her mind. Fire spread from pussy to skull. Fire crackers exploded in her brain. She wanted him, needed him, would do anything to have him. She opened her eyes and caught her reflection in the foyer vanity.
She watched him nipping at her tits, and biting her bare skin. Every time his lips lapped at her skin, they left a lingering trail of fire. His teeth grazed her body and she felt it swell and redden under his mouth.
Desire thickened inside her, sending juices leaking from her slit. She watched his hand leave her round, perky tits as it traveled down the length of her body to slip beneath her short black skirt. He ripped the thin lace from her ass, then pulled her skirt up.
His eyes were fastened on her hairless lips, freshly shaved, but his smile was on her. He traced the slippery wetness coating her thighs, until his fingers settled in place on her clit.
Her body tensed as he worked in circles, causing her to shudder as they pushed deep into her soaked fuckhole. He pounded her pussy with his fingers, watching her face smash against the wall as she tried to swallow her moans.
Her dripping cunt tightened as she writhed on the couch.
Carrie panted and shuddered and shook.
Alex moved his hand from her pussy, then pressed hard on her shoulders, sending her to her knees. Her deep blue eyes looked up at him, and he smiled back down at her. She gripped the elastic waist of the only thing between her and his dick, then yanked it to his ankles.
The warmth of her mouth wrapping around his cock sent a shiver down his spine. She made circles around his width, twisting her head as she took his dick deeper down her throat.
She started to move at a torturer’s pace, but Alex grabbed the back of her head and shoved his cock deeper, forcing her to move faster on his cock, making her use her mouth the way he would use her slick, hot pussy.
His knees buckled under his own weight, and she looked up and smiled, still working her hands around the base of his cock, her mouth around its tip as it throbbed.
Fire flashed in his eyes. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her, stumbling, down the hall. He made it half way through the short span before pushing her into the wall and gently licking her lips.
He spread her legs with his own and rubbed her ass before grabbing two handfuls and crushing her against the wall with his weight.
His hand found his throbbing cock and he shoved his full length into her slippery pussy as her entire body tensed. Holding her ass, he rocked her body hard against his, grinding her hips against his until she was begging for more.
Her hands went from around his neck to her own tits. She rubbed herself and moaned, “More … more … harder …”
He crushed his knees against the wall for leverage. She turned her hips in the same circles she made with her mouth, pushing himself past all control. He watched her bounce on his cock, transformed from a woman wanting his money to a woman flush with a bottomless hunger.
She stretched her tits to meet his mouth, then grabbed the back of his head, shoving it between their swollen fullness. He took another bite of her flesh, and her back arched against the wall.
His hard hands felt like sandpaper against the smooth skin of her ass, and his strong arms bounced her like a twig. He pounded her dripping slit with a force she thought could shatter her bones, but she pushed herself harder onto every thrust, sending wave after wave of chills through her body. Her head ground into the wall; her fingers reached for her swollen clit as she stroked her slit in time with the pounding dick.
She felt herself tighten around his cock, then braced herself for the shudder and vibrations to follow. The largest climbed from deep inside her cunt to the depths of her stomach. Carrie collapsed against his chest as he continued to pound her hard, each thrust moving him closer to the edge.
Carrie recovered quickly and pushed her body into another round of circling hips.
He pumped three times, thrice as violent, then cried as his cream shot into her inner walls.
Their bodies slid to the floor in a crumpled heap of sweat. His body trembled.
Carrie recovered quicker than he did, rising to her feet, straightening her skirt, and adjusting her blouse and jacket as best she could with the missing buttons.
He propped his head on his hand against the cold hardwood floor and watched her ass swaying in hurried movement.
How the hell am I going to go from mind blowing sex to getting his check without making myself sound like a prostitute?
She buttoned the only button left on her jacket, and opened her mouth to say the one thing she didn’t want to say. But he beat her to it.
“About that pledge …” he said with a sly grin. Carrie couldn’t believe it. Holland was already hard again.
Sweet Pussy (And Sweeter Revenge)
Today was the first day of the rest of her life.
Janie promised herself: This was the start of her dreams coming true.
She raced her violet Dodge Neon past the Keystone, South Dakota city limits, vowing it was only the first in a long line of completely different towns before she finally found herself in the one most opposite the town she’d spent the last 23 years of her life in.
New town. New job. New life.
New Janie.
This was the start of something spectacular.
Janie killed some time around the small town for a half hour before she was due to meet her new boss.
She drew a deep breath as she steered her Neon into the front office parking lot. The place was gorgeous, with flowers erupting in bloom around the building’s perimeter. A long sprawl of bay windows spilled into a perfect blue sky, stretching a lifetime in every direction.
You’ve got this.
Janie opened the Neon door and stretched her tan legs as she stood. She slammed the door hard, as if shutting her past.
This wasn’t Conrad Springs, and she wasn’t that backward girl – too afrai
d of everything. She was grabbing life by its balls, or shoving her fingers up in its pussy. Either way, Janie was determined to mine every opportunity from Keystone, hopefully while sticky.
Her old life had enough heartbreak to haunt her. Janie had lived in Conrad Springs since she slid, seven pounds and eight ounces, from her mom. She’d always been backward, usually with her head in a history book. Janie’s only friend was her blonde-haired, blue-eyed neighbor, one year older than her. Brenda was Janie’s rock when her grandparents passed – the only family she had since her mom ran off with her drug dealer when she was 10.
Everyone smiled at Janie, then whispered as she passed – just one of the eighty-four thousand reasons Janie was sick of being in the same place since always.
From elementary school to getting her degree in American History from Conrad Springs University, the best thing that vomit of farms and shotgun shacks ever offered her was Seth. His cat-like green eyes and shoulder-length black hair made every girl who met him want to fall to their backs and spread their legs wide. Until she met Seth at CSU, many had.
Seth grew up traveling and, while he tempted Janie with many stories of the places they could go, he also claimed he had all he needed right there in Conrad Springs. He only had one half-brother, from his father’s affair, and no other family. The Springs made him happy. Being charming and handsome wasn’t enough to smother the truth: if Janie stayed with him, their children would be born in the Springs, go to school in the Springs, and likely get their degrees two miserable decades later from CSU like an echo of her unflushed shit.
Janie wasn’t willing to serve a sentence for an uncommitted crime. She loathed the town and every two-faced fucker who settled enough to call it home. Except Brenda – the only person besides Seth in the Springs that Janie cared about at all.
Janie was never quite sure why she was drawn to Brenda. She wasn’t really different from anyone else in the Springs, except that she lived next door. Brenda wanted the same thing as everyone else: to marry, settle down, and live in Conrad Springs until daisies were on top of her. She was head cheerleader, homecoming queen through all four years of high school, and never once met a dick she wasn’t willing to taste.
Sex Every Day, Volume 4: 7 Single Serving Fantasies Page 4
