by Amelie
I guess I’d done the right thing because when I managed to avert my gaze from his willy, I saw that the grin on his face was even bigger than the one he’d given me the first time.
He pushed the lid of the bottle and dribbled oil onto my hand.
I rubbed up and down until his cock became fully hard.
Buddy Holly had nothing on this guy, I can tell you. He was the size of a pony. I could only just get my finger and thumb around him.
His end throbbed red. I worked him faster and faster.
He reached over and grabbed my hair.
He pulled it tight when he was preparing to come. I increased my speed. Faster and faster I went.
He pulled my hair harder.
I stared right at his dick as it twitched and send a jet of white sperm right into my face. The hot liquid dripped down my cheeks and dribbled into my mouth. I licked at it with my tongue enjoying the sour fluid. I was so turned on, I’d have straddled him there and then with all my best friends watching if his manhood hadn’t drooped as soon as he’d come.
I’m lucky with my friends. I don’t think any of them has told a soul. Not even Michelle has spread the word and she was the one who had the best view of all.
P is for Pearls
It was another of the things that changed about Simon when he turned forty. He began researching sex on the internet. We tried a few things. He gave the shower head a go, sprinkling it over my delicate parts. That did nothing for me. He moved on to a water pistol to see if that was any better. It wasn’t. He dressed up as a policeman, but after my stripper experience, it just made me laugh. He wanted to try a whip, but no thanks. I know I’ve done a lot of things, but I’ve never wanted anyone to hurt me. He tried slapping my ass instead. It wasn’t hard - I suppose he was just trying it out – I tore a strip off him for that and made it clear that that was never to happen again or I’d be walking out of the door. That might sound harsh, but I wasn’t interested in that kind of thing and I would have left as well. No matter what we have.
In the end he apologised and I forgave him.
The only one of his ideas that actually worked for me was the pearls.
I almost didn’t let him after the whip idea, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings too badly. After all, he was only trying to spice things up for both of us.
It all happened very quickly. We were kissing and cuddling one Sunday morning when he said he had a present for me.
I sat up like a puppy being offered a bone.
In his bedside table was a rectangular box wrapped in red paper and with a white ribbon tied neatly around it.
I opened it slowly.
Inside was a long black velvet box.
I went to open the silver catch and he put his hand on mine to prevent me doing so.
“There’s one condition,” he said. “That I get to use them first.”
I didn’t understand, but I agreed anyway.
I pushed the clasp up and lifted the lid.
Lying on a bed of white silk was a beautiful pearl necklace. I let out a gasp when I saw it. My fingers reached in and took it out. I lifted it to my neck and held it there.
“Not just yet,” Simon told me. “I get my turn first.”
He took the necklace from my hand.
“Lie back.”
I did as I was told. I may not want to be hurt, but it does turn me on when a man takes control.
“Spread your legs.”
Simon looked at my pussy as if he were looking at the crown jewels.
He reached back into the bedside cabinet and took out the lube we keep there if we ever want to go anal. He pressed the lid and squirted out a little of the gel, then rubbed it between his fingers to warm it up.
He applied the lube loving to my sex. I raised my hips in anticipation.
He picked up the necklace and licked it sexily with his pink tongue. Next he took it by each end and put it on me.
“Are you sure?” I asked. Using expensive and lovely jewellery for sex made me nervous, especially when it was my jewellery.
“Sh.” He concentrated and began pulling the string of pearls over my labia and across my clit.
The balls came fast. They bobbled over my pussy like tiny bundles of joy.
He handled them softly and picked up pace as he went.
The sensation was fantastic. It was like they were vibrating over me, sending pulses through my vagina.
I felt my throat tighten and my stomach tense as I came close. Simon must have sensed it and slowed the beads right down again. I looked down at his face and saw the pleasure he was getting from the experience and held my breath.
“I love you,” he whispered. That was all it took. The orgasm flowed through me like waves in the Mediterranean Sea at the height of summer. My brain exploded with lights and colours and time stood still.
When I opened my eyes, Simon was right there. He put the pearls around my neck and did the clasp.
With one hand, he stroked my hair. The other took his weight as he slipped his penis inside me slowly and tenderly. Before he did anything else, I was back in the land of lights and colours.
Q is for Q.T.
Oliver was a real cutie. We could have been great together.
Of all the memories I have of him, there’s this one that stands out above all.
We were engaged when he got the news. Thankfully, we hadn’t made any preparations for the wedding. We didn’t even have a date.
His unit was to be shipped out to Iraq the next day and he had a one night pass to say goodbye.
We talked it through. To be honest, I was pretty new to the whole ‘army wife’ thing and I’d never really believed he’d be going anywhere dangerous. He assured me that he’d be OK. Being a mechanic, it wasn’t as if he’d be out there on the front line patrolling the streets on a daily basis. No, he’d be safely housed well away from the trouble fixing engines just like he always did.
I felt as if I’d been kicked in the stomach when I found out. It was like I couldn’t breathe. At least we had plenty of time to prepare for him leaving and I was able to put it out of my mind.
Nothing can prepare you for the last night, though.
We had a romantic dinner of burgers and fries while we watched Titanic on DVD. For dessert we had ice cream and after that we worked our way through a box of chocolates.
When we went to bed that night, I put on the new negligee that I’d bought especially for the occasion. It was black and sleek and felt wonderful against my skin. I slipped on the pair of fishnet stockings on and clipped them to my suspenders. A quick check in the mirror, a touching up of the lipstick and a spray of perfume on my cleavage and I was ready.
He was there in the bed, his tightly muscled body looking ready for anything the world could throw at him. His chest was broad and tanned and the sight of his tiny nipples always made me quiver.
Seeing him like that just brought it home to me that this might be our final night.
I just burst into tears.
It was supposed to be a night of hot sex and hotter sex and I just fell apart.
Oliver threw the covers from his legs and leaped over to me. His long, strong arms engulfed me. I felt safe again. It was like he was a shield from the rest of the world and it felt like we could stay that way forever.
We lay in bed for hours. He stroked me and sang me songs and rocked me gently to sleep. He cuddled me close and held me tight and told jokes about his life on the army.
Our kisses were tender and delicate and brought my heart back to life.
Eventually I fell asleep.
There was no sex that night. It didn’t matter.
When Simon makes love to me, I remember those moments with Oliver. It’s the feeling of security and the sense that nothing bad can ever happen again that flashes through my mind. It was so beautiful and warm that reliving it relaxes my whole body and gets my heart beating.
Oliver never made it back. He didn’t even make it through the first
week. He was taken out by an IED. The only comfort was that he died instantly. I’d like to think he remembered our last night when his life flashed before him. I hope I was the last thing he saw.
R is for Raspberries
There are times when I rely on my imagination.
I picture Gail. She’s lying on a bed in a room with the sun blazing through the window.
She’s wearing nothing but raspberries. They circle her nipples, form a line down her stomach and cover the triangle of her pubic hair. Her eyes are closed and there are berries balanced on her lids.
She holds her arms out.
“Eat me,” she urges. “Eat me clean.”
I go over and take the first of the raspberries from her eyes.
How sweet it tastes.
S is for Snow
When Ravi called me and said he wanted to meet, I wasn’t sure what to do. My head was screaming ‘no’ and my heart yearned to see him. My mouth was the winner. It said ‘yes’ before the rest of me had time to make a decision.
We met in a quiet bar down a cul-de-sac that we’d used to frequent back in the good old days. I’d not seen him for three years and we’d not shared more than an occasional e-mail or Facebook post.
The thing was it had taken me all of that time to get over him. I’d worked hard at getting my life back together and it seemed silly for me to risk going along. As soon as I saw him, though, all doubts flew from my mind.
He looked incredible. His skin had the glorious rich colour to it that I loved, his hair had grown down to his shoulders and his eyes sparkled. Even though it was the middle of winter, he was still wearing flip-flops on his feet.
He leaned in and pecked me twice, once on each cheek. I soaked up his scent and squeezed his hand gently. I’d already lost any determination to keep my distance, but still knew I needed to be careful.
In spite of all of our scars and recently healed wounds, we got on as if nothing had ever gone wrong between us.
After a few bottles of beer, we ordered a bottle of full-bodied red wine and sipped it by the warmth of the open fire.
It turned out that Ravi’s life wasn’t going as well as he might have hoped. His bright talent still hadn’t reached its full potential. He said it was because of me. That he had never forgotten what we had and hadn’t really been able to move on.
He explained why he’d left me all those years ago. How he’d fallen for a French woman at work who was ten years older than us and that they’d ended up having a torrid affair. He didn’t know why he’d done it because he knew that he truly loved me, but the sex appeal of the woman had been too much. Her name was Amelie and she was married to the brother of the boss. The night he’d left, he’d popped out and given her a call. Her husband was suspicious and had ripped the phone from her hands to threaten him with a violent end. Ravi had panicked. He couldn’t bear the idea of me finding out and had just run off. It was a breakdown of sorts, he said. He’d been in therapy since, though, and now he was ready to get his life back on the rails.
Now I think about it, he was like a little boy lost, sitting there pouring his heart out to me. He didn’t know what he wanted and I wasn’t sure that seeing me was doing him any good.
Even so, I found him totally hypnotic. The wine had gone straight to my head and I ended up sharing intimate stories with him.
By the end of the bottle, we were huddled close and were reminiscing about our own sex lives. Neither of us, or so he said, had had better sex since we’d been apart. All the chat rekindled the lust I thought I’d buried. It always happens when I meet an ex, I realise, that we always get to talking sex sooner or later.
We finished our drink. He asked me if we should have another.
Before I could make a decision, my hand reached over and put my hand on his leg.
“Let’s go and get some fresh air,” I said.
We went outside.
It was snowing heavily. A carpet of white had covered the ground and the world seemed totally silent. It was as if we were the only survivors of the end of the world.
Ravi took off his heavy overcoat and made me put it on. It was cosy in there and smelt ever so slightly of cardamom. I cuddled into it, took Ravi’s hand and led him over to the wall.
I wasn’t sure how far I was going to go, but my desire to get close to him was intense. I needed his lips on mine as much as I needed oxygen.
Our lips met hungrily. Our tongues twisted and played together like children allowed on a funfair ride after being cooped up for months with nothing but TV for entertainment. The sensation of pleasure on my tongue spread through my body, right town into my toes.
He opened the coat I’d just put on and his hands went to my breasts in the way I remember him always doing. He was always a chest man. His fingers slipped inside my bra and rolled my nipples. The pain was pure pleasure.
It was as if we’d never been apart.
His right hand dropped and slipped inside my jeans. He must have felt the wet heat I was producing. I gasped as he touched my clit and then put two fingers inside me and spread them wide.
I went straight for his belt. I pulled hard at the end and forced open the buckle.
We fumbled with each other’s trousers until they were open.
His cock fell out and stood proud. I gave it a quick rub and then tugged my jeans down in short bursts, just far enough to allow him access.
I pushed myself towards him.
It wasn’t easy. I stood on my tiptoes and he lifted my buttocks until he found his entry.
The snow fell around us as we thrust towards each other. We stood and stared into each other’s eyes and both laughed at the same time.
We fucked with the urgency of a couple outside in the cold that shouldn’t have been together in the first place.
I heard a cough from around the corner. I stopped moving and held the flaps of my coat around Ravi to cover our blushes.
An old man walking a tiny dog appeared on the street. He looked our way and then went on about his business as if we weren’t even there.
Maybe we both realised out time was short. Ravi and I pumped at each other hard. We came at the same moment, the waves of joy and pleasure gripping my midriff as I gave myself to him.
We zipped ourselves back up immediately and walked quietly for a while, only the muffled crunches of our feet making any noise. I looked down and saw Ravi’s sandals. I don’t know why, but it was seeing his feet that made me decide we weren’t going to try again.
We chatted about everything and nothing. I put out my arm and hailed a taxi. When it pulled over, I took off my coat and gave it back to Ravi. We hugged tightly and kissed like friends. There were some kind words about how lovely we both were and how good it had been to see each other and I got into the cab and was driven away.
I looked back through the rear window. Ravi waved. He blew me a kiss, turned and walked up the hill and out of my life forever.
T is for Tattoos
My favourite tattoo is a tiny love heart on Ravi’s buttocks. He told me he’d done it in my honour. That he’d never forgotten. I think of it bobbing up and down between my thighs and watching my nails scratch away at its outline.
U is for Ulrika
Ulrika moved in to the house next door last week.
She’s Icelandic, blonde, tall and slender.
Her eyes are as blue as rock pools.
Every night she takes a shower. I know because I watch her silhouette behind the frosted glass of her upstairs bathroom.
I watch her slowly towel herself down. I admire the curves of her breasts and her hips. I see her check herself out in the mirror and I’ve seen her shave herself down below, taking all the time of an artist working on a canvas.
I imagine drying her back and brushing her hair like I’m her personal maid. I picture myself doing the shaving.
I hope we never get to meet. If I were to get to know her, I’m not sure I could spy on her like this anymore.
V is for Venus
Simon and I went to Paris for our honeymoon.
It was everything I’d hoped the city would be and more. It’s such an amazing place.
It was the Louvre that I think of while I’m making love. In particular, I think of the Venus de Milo. Aphrodite of Milos. Even in the sultry summer heat, she looked cool and collected.
Even without her arms she looks complete as a woman.
The marble that she’s carved of is so smooth and clean it made me want to stroke her all over. To run my fingers along her neck, over her ripe breasts and those perfectly erect nipples and down across her belly button.
Her eyes seem to notice everything. It’s as if she can see into every woman’s heart and into their wildest fantasies.
I wanted to run my hands under the cloth that’s draped around her hips as if it’s ready to fall to the floor. I imagine finding her beneath those clothes and stroking her there until her face cracks into a divine smile.
W is for Weddings
I was a bridesmaid once. Apart from my own wedding, it was my favourite of all those I’ve attended.
I remember the buzz of the morning, the bride and the three maids having our hair done together. We had a glass of champagne to help to add bubbles to the experience as the hairdresser curled and tied, trimmed and toiled. I had extensions that day. They were so carefully clipped in that they looked like the real thing.
When she was done, we went upstairs to get dressed.
The champagne must have gone to my head because I couldn’t take my eyes off the other girls.
We dressed in layers.
First we put on lilac knickers that shone in the sunlight. Against our tanned bodies, they looked exotic and hot.
Next we put on our suspender belts. They were tight and black and hugged our flesh.
The stockings were dark and sleek and made our legs look longer than they really were. The bride looked gorgeous as she basked in her centre stage role. Even though she’d had a neat Brazilian that morning, her mound stood proud. I wanted to touch her so badly that I went over to help her with her garter. I slipped it over her calf, past her knee and onto her thigh. When I arrived at the top, I rubbed my shoulder against her quim. I’m sure it gave me an electric shock. She smiled down at me and stared. For an instant I saw a come-on look in her eyes and then I watched it vanish into the serious face of preparation.
