by Zane
Yvonne pulled me against her, pressing her lips against mine before I could protest. It was all I could do to adjust to the aggression and passion in her kiss, trying desperately to get a word in to find out what provoked her to do this.
Yvonne lifted her left leg and wrapped it around the small of my back, causing her skirt to hike up over her hips this time. My instincts took over, no longer caring to know the reason; my body simply wanted to be in control. I cupped my hands under her ass, now bare except for the thong that she was wearing, pushing her into the front seat to get better leverage over her.
“Damn, boy, you want it that bad, huh?” she smirked at me, grinning as she unbuckled my jeans. “Tell me you want to fuck me, Drew. I can tell every time you look at me.”
I didn’t say a word, I just continued my assault on her senses, ripping her blouse open, exposing her bra. I kissed her again, this time taking the lead as I unhooked her bra to expose her nipples to the night air. I pulled her gun belt off her shoulders to keep her from feeling so tight against me.
She tried hard to stop me, but it felt like she was only doing that to bring me further to the edge, unlocking the primal nature within me to take things to the next level. She bit my neck, clawed at my back, all in an attempt to “stop” me from fucking her.
“Take it, baby, take it now!” Yvonne screamed as she reached for the garage door opener to close the door so she could really cut loose. “I want you to take it. Come on!”
I turned her around, bending her over to expose her ass to me. Slipping a condom on, I forced my shaft deep inside her wetness, growling deep as I felt her clenching tightly around me. I gripped her hips tightly, listening to her ass smacking against me as I took her hard and deep.
“That’s it, baby … fuck me harder!” she squealed.
I pulled her arms behind her back as I continued to fuck her. Being in that helpless state of having her arms and hands taken from her seemed to intensify her moans and screaming. Her words became unintelligible, her body beckoning me to push it to the brink of exhaustion, wanting me to fuck her into oblivion.
Just an hour ago, she was feeling helpless, trying to figure out if she wanted me to be her protection.
Now, there was no doubt in my mind that she wanted me to take the sting of her embarrassment and remove it with nothing short of pure ecstasy. She didn’t want to feel like a victim, and I was doing my best to ensure that she wouldn’t feel anything except my dick driving deeper inside her by the second.
I growled loudly as I felt my orgasm cresting, releasing her hands and raking my nails down her back. I felt her yelling out that she was coming, pressing her palms against the seat to brace herself and to keep her legs from buckling under her from the strength of her orgasm.
I grabbed a handful of her hair as I felt my own climax pushing over the edge, going as hard as I could before my body betrayed me once I came. I pulled her up, my breath against her ear, telling her how sexy she was, how much I wanted to fuck her, how much she wanted to fuck me.
“Yes, yes, I wanted you!” Yvonne yelled out, her statement echoing against the walls of the garage. “God, you feel so good, just keep fucking me!”
My strength was slowly leaving me as I came deep within her walls, straining the latex to its extremes. I immediately grabbed the door, bracing myself against the crash that I knew would soon come after the climax. Sweat poured down my face, causing my dress shirt to stick against my skin.
Yvonne started shaking just as my explosion subsided, her breath catching as her orgasm began to course through her body. Her knees buckled slightly, and she caught herself by leaning across the mid console in her truck, which caused me to slide out of her pussy.
After taking a few minutes to catch our breath, Yvonne finally said, “You know, I’m gonna have to have you transferred to another unit now.”
“Why is that?” I queried, a little disoriented from our unexpected clandestine rendezvous.
“Because I don’t normally mix business with pleasure,” she confessed, turning to face me, her lips tracing my neck. “But in your case, I have no problems making an exception. At least until you’re officially on the force, then I’ll have to make sure you’re where I want you to be.”
“And where might that be, Yvonne?” I asked, trading kisses in between words.
“Under me, literally and figuratively.” She smiled, trying to stir me up again. “Now, fuck me again, and that’s an order from your superior, Drew.”
What could I say?
My mantra was still the same … to protect and serve.
And I did both for my favorite detective, and I planned to for as long as she would have me.
Leading by Example
Lotus Falcon
I worked with Barry for many years and found his outward advances both refreshing and impressive. He flirted with me in a way that was both obvious and playful and I flirted right back at him, never missing a beat. We were both educators and participated in many professional organizations together. I admired his outspokenness and ability to conduct meetings and maintain control of his audiences. He was opinionated and an up-and-coming leader in the field of education and for years, I noticed his youthfulness and eagerness to get ahead in his career.
After getting to know him and after many casual conversations, the subject of sexuality came up, probably after something I initiated. After many conversations, he admitted that he was celibate and had been practicing celibacy for a while. Since I was an educator and parent, of course I thought celibacy was the noblest thing I had ever heard of. Barry wasn’t ashamed of it and, even after I questioned him to death about it, he maintained his position on the virtues of celibacy and his decision to remain celibate. For months, I would use his story with my children, telling them how much I admired his decision in order to inspire them to meet young men who didn’t have sex on the brain.
After that I would bump into Barry now and then at many educational functions and, like clockwork, he would flirt a little and I would flirt back and that would be that. I soon developed an interest in writing erotica and since we were in the same writing organization, he found it fascinating that I would choose to focus my talents on this genre. We soon started emailing each other professionally and then started discussing our writing interests. Eventually Barry directed me to another email address of his; he went by the name of dickslayer007. It was through this email address that I began to uncover who the real Barry was and just how much he was true to his online name.
Barry’s playful advances provided me with firsthand research and story starters for my erotic stories. Our emails became more and more explicit and I felt an enormous rush every time I read his nasty thoughts. He described in detail what he wanted to do to me and I would write back with something just as provocative, matching his imagination word for word. By that time, Barry’s celibacy phase was a thing of the past and his manly horniness was in full bloom.
Barry was about thirty-two and I was forty-five when I first met him, and I kept our email playfulness in its proper perspective, even when he started crossing the line by suggesting that we “get together.” I never encouraged those advances at first, because it would make me a little noxious whenever I tried to do the math. I couldn’t get it out of my head that, when I was thirteen, Barry was an infant or, better yet, when I was graduating from high school preparing for college, he was somewhere in elementary school making spit bubbles and learning how to print his name.
Those images would mess with my mind and, even though his advances were flattering, they were unrealistic for a woman of my standing, or so I thought. After six children and four grandchildren, I was also trying to come to terms with my body image, which was not too bad with clothes on and not as bad as a lot of sisters my age with clothes off. As far as being naked, I looked best in very low, diffused lighting and I tried to avoid frontal nudity at all costs, since I did nurse every single one of my babies for nineteen months apiece.
No one told me at that time that my breasts, stomach, and behind would all turn against me one day. One day when I was shaving my pubic hair, I stumbled across not one, not two, and certainly not three gray hairs, but a whole army growing, multiplying between my legs. The more I shaved, the more I realized I would have to go all the way bald, so my pubic hair wouldn’t look like an old man’s mustache.
I looked at my behind one day in a two-way mirror. For years, I’d thought I looked pretty good for my age, until I noticed now how my jam was starting to turn into jelly. Thank goodness I worked out four to five times a week and it was easy to fine-tune those areas of my body that needed a little tightening up. However, my doubts and fears about my body weren’t always about body image, but sometimes about the self-consciousness I felt about the way my nipples protruded or the way my inner labia always seemed to extend outside my vagina. I was a grown woman before I actually saw what my vagina really looked like, up close and personal, and I was horrified and left wondering if any woman had one as hideous as mine, or if they were all just as ugly.
During that time I continued writing erotica and found out I was pretty good at it and later began selling sex toys, lubes, and holding workshops on sexuality. I found out that women were hungry for information on sexuality, and I was hungry for the freedom of doing something that was so much out of my character. I did a lot of “research” for my stories and workshops and started viewing numerous adult videos, and soon discovered that I wasn’t the only woman with an ugly vagina and that most vaginas were pretty ugly.
I also noticed the freedom that the women in the videos displayed and the way they were so uninhibited when it came to expressing themselves and getting what they wanted sexually. The videos inspired me more than I anticipated and, for the first time in my life, I touched myself in places I had never explored before. I found that I liked it, and couldn’t get enough of myself.
Whenever Barry would jokingly ask when I would let him “tap that ass,” as he put it, all those preconceived notions would enter my head. But the biggest fear that I couldn’t seem to shake was that he would notice the stretch marks on my stomach or the back fat above my waist or the udders on my chest that used to be breasts. The last thing I wanted to do was make him sick to his stomach when he looked at my body and compared it to the young, tight bodies he was used to being with.
For years I would put Barry off, until he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, or so he thought. Actually, I simply got to the point where I wanted to finally see for myself what he was working with. Despite those little voices in my head that said, “Sit your old ass down and pick on somebody your own age,” I went for it. I was good and ready and figured I would get with Barry just that one time, for the sake of “research.”
When I finally told him that we would hook up, you would have thought someone had given him a Big Wheel for his seventh birthday. That was how excited he was. His excitement made me feel like I was doing him a favor, more so than planning a rendezvous.
Barry had to have known how old I was. It wasn’t a secret that I was a mature woman, but it wasn’t an issue either. I was a few years younger than his parents, but he never alluded to age or referred to it. As a matter of fact, he came at me like a man, a young man, but a man just the same. I never had any daydreams of being his woman, nor of him being my man. It wasn’t that kind of party and that’s what I liked about our whole “arrangement.” It was up-front, honest, and grown folks’ business and I was down for whatever was going to happen. I soon learned of another side of Barry that was different from the domineering educator that I witnessed at planning meetings, when I discovered that he was a domineering “sexpert” that knew how to handle his business inside the bedroom as well.
When Barry and I finally got together, he was thirty-five and I was forty-eight. I never felt awkward at the thought of us finally going to “do it.” However, I did find it hard to shake my nervousness that he would have to see me naked. So, in my head, I would plan different maneuvers that I would execute to keep him from looking directly at my body, if it should ever have to come to that. I figured I would go old school on him and make him turn out the lights in order to hide the unsightly body parts I didn’t want him to see. Then I planned on turning up the music to drown out the disgusting body noises that seemed to have a mind of their own when you least expected.
I also had to be wary of those facial expressions I sometimes made when the lovin’ started to feel too good. I would have hated for him to judge me based on the ugly faces I could make. Let’s not talk about the cussin’ and swearin’ I have been known to generate in the heat of passion. Depending on where you’re coming from, sounds of passion could be a turn-on or a turn-off or somewhere in the middle. Oh, yeah, getting completely naked was totally out of the question. If it came to that, I would have to undress myself with bra and panties slightly off, and at no time would my clothes be out of arm’s reach, in case I had to make a quick getaway. By the time I got all those provisions straight in my head, I almost talked myself out of the whole ordeal.
I was going to meet Barry at his apartment, and for the life of me, I couldn’t find the right thing to wear. Everything I considered putting on either made me look old, frumpy, or matronly. My body suddenly looked as if it was out of alignment, and the gray hairs on my vagina were suddenly screaming to the tune of “Old Man River.”
I tried to quiet the voices in my head, but they kept saying, “What the hell do you think you’re going to do, with your old-ass self?” When I tried to ignore the voices, they would get louder. I even tried to drown out the voices by convincing myself that I would do it just this one time. So the voices must have thought that was okay; they left me alone after that.
When I finally made it to Barry’s apartment, he was so eager to see me, he reminded me of a little boy on Christmas morning. As I looked around his apartment, I noticed how he had clothes and shoes and stuff thrown everywhere. He noticed me looking and reassured me that his apartment didn’t usually look like that and that he’d been too busy to straighten up. I had to keep my motherly instincts from kicking in. More than I wanted sex, I wanted to hang up his clothes and organize his room, but I resisted that urge and turned my attention to the hard steel that was standing at attention in front of my face. He didn’t have any underwear on and said he didn’t wear any in the summer because it was too hot. All I could think was, How nasty is that!
I had to do away with all my old school notions of foreplay and getting in the mood and all that stuff from yesteryear. Before I could get my bearings, Barry’s pants were off and his rod of steel was rubbing the side of my face like a sea sponge. His boldness took me by surprise and, for a minute, I thought his directness was a little disrespectful until I had to remind myself to get out of teacher mode and just go with the flow. It was about two p.m. in the middle of the summer, and the sun was beaming strong in the windows. I assumed Barry was going to shut the blinds and close the curtains, but no chance of that. He was mounting me before I could take my shoes off.
I became accustomed to his unnecessary roughness and found it quite refreshing to be manhandled in that way, even though I did have to tell him to ease up his death grips from time to time. We did it right there on his couch from the front to the back, and before I could catch my breath again he was escorting me to his junky bedroom, where he had to throw the clothes on the floor so we could find room to lie down on the bed. I was going to stay true to my convictions and not take my clothes off, but before I could protest in that matronly way that I had practiced, he was taking off my pants with both of his hands. As I was protesting, he thought I was playing hard to get, but I was really having a mini attack. There was so much sun coming in his bedroom, I feared that all my stuff would be right out there, big and exposed and in living color, for the public to see.
The more I tried to stop him from taking my bra and underwear completely off, the more I heard them rip until I was not only naked but spread-eagle right in
front of him. He lifted my legs high into the air and looked straight into my vagina as if he was going to give it mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and that’s exactly what he did. He worked his tongue in ways that made my face distort and my body go into convulsions. He worked his tongue and his fingers at the same time, to the point I had to release myself, get caught up in the feeling, and ride with it.
When he finished, I tried to close my legs, but he wouldn’t let me. He did the unthinkable, which was to sit there and look straight into my vagina, while telling me how much he liked what he saw. As he talked, my legs turned from solid gold to putty, and the more he talked about how he liked my “fat lips” the more he buried his face in them. The more he buried his face in them, the wetter I got and the wetter I got, the more turned on he became, until I wrapped my legs around his head and held him prisoner.
He banged me from the front and he banged me from the back and his strokes were long and intense. When it was time for him to go for the long stroke, he would bite his lip and look at me as if he was trying to see right through me. He kept a watchful eye on me as if he wanted to see firsthand my every reaction to his constant pounding. He was brutal and I loved it and I told him so. Some of the language coming out of my mouth surprised even me and I wondered at times who that woman was inside of me. Words like “do it harder” or “just like that” seemed to provide him with enough encouragement to make him go on, round after round after sweaty round. He dripped with so much sweat I had to take a pillow and cover my face to keep from getting soaking wet. Even my locs were drenched and all he did was wipe his face and kept on stroking.
He lay on his back for a moment and, thinking he was going to catch his breath, I decided to turn the tables on him and ride him for a while. I’d gotten my second wind by then and anchored my hands on the wall in front of us while I rode him like a bucking bronco. It felt better than I have ever remembered it feeling; he knew how to move his hips as he held my waist firmly in place with his strong, black hands. When I pushed downward, he would push upward and we were in total rhythm. He was hittin’ all the right spots and looked me straight in my eyes while he was doing it. He didn’t want to miss a wince or a smirk from my face and wanted to critique my facial expressions firsthand.
