The erotic sensations were so intense that I was in danger of becoming lost in my private reverie of voluptuous abandon. Unlike other occasions when I was alone and hungry, this time my sole purpose was not to pleasure myself to orgasm. I had to remind myself that now, with each rhythmic probe and twist, I was making my sheath wider, more lubricious and welcoming. I had to be mindful of the task that went beyond my own immediate gratification. My goal was to prime myself to take his big, hard penis into me.
Thinking of his size, especially his considerable girth, reminded me of the need to widen my nether mouth as much as I possibly could. With that in mind, I began circling the dildo as firmly and widely as possible, round and round inside my pussy. With each determined circle, with each hard revolution, I was loosening my tight entrance and widening the swollen tunnel of my uninitiated sex. It was truly a labour of love.
When I felt ready, I turned off the vibrator and put it aside. I drew out the dildo, moaning in pleasure as I felt the firm tug on my folds of inner flesh. The plastic cylinder was as warm as my swollen cunt and covered with my slippery secretions. Rolling over to face him, I smiled, licked my lips and got onto my hands and knees. With pendant breasts swaying heavily beneath me, I moved down on the bed till his erection loomed directly in front of me.
After one last shy look up at his face, I lowered my head and opened my mouth wider than I ever had before to encompass his glans. I began to lick and suck. I sucked and sucked, coating his sex with my saliva. My fists travelled up and down his shaft, my motions at first light and slow, getting firmer and faster as the suction of my mouth increased.
After a-while, I tired. My mouth and neck were not accustomed to such strenuous exercise. My jaw complained audibly as I forced it open even wider so that I could release his penis. It bobbed up proudly, glistening in the candlelight.
I had not expected to feel such vast and varied emotions. I was excited, aroused, and filled with such aching desire, but that bulging tool of his was so immense. The virile masculinity of it made me feel small, soft, and feminine. It looked so dangerous and powerful in contrast with my own fragile vulnerability. It frightened me almost as much as it enticed me.
I picked up the vibrator and paused to allow myself one more look at the instrument of my imminent impalement before rising up and straddling him. I knelt above him on legs that were shaking with equal measures of anxiety and anticipation.
“I’d better do this myself,” I breathed as, with determined fingers, I stretched my labia wider and wider until my slit was splayed open as far as it would go.
I wanted his entry into me to be accomplished with as little pain as possible. Happily, the escalating pulsations and spasms of my cunt focused my mind more on my hunger and less on my trepidations. But still, I wanted to be careful.
I thrust three fingers of my left hand into the hot flesh of my soaking sex. I pulled them out, dripping with my thick juices, and lubricated his entire penis. Again, I delved deeply into myself, this time spreading the copious secretions over my swollen lips that would soon envelop him. One more time, I plunged into my cunt and used the viscous fluid to wet my own little erect phallus. After that, I was sure I was ready.
I inched further up on the bed, pulled my lips wide and positioned myself in a tense squat over his erection. I teased myself with the vibrator causing more love juice to dribble out of me and drip down the length of his prick. Determinedly, I lowered myself till I felt his hard cock pressing firmly against my spread lips. I looked up at him for encouragement and found that I didn’t want to look away from his face. I felt the connection between our eyes echoing the connection between our sexes.
Panting, I lowered myself determinedly onto his prick, then withdrew, only to push down and swallow him again. Up and down I went, a bit further each time, all the while with my eyes locked on his. I could feel my cunt stretching – it stung, but I stubbornly persisted until I sensed an obstruction inside me, a barrier that wouldn’t allow him any further into me.
“Damn! I’d better take care of that,” I muttered. “With all the wanking I’ve been doing, I’m surprised it didn’t tear before now.”
With my vibrator on high speed and pressed directly against my clit, I rose up and then thrust myself down hard and fast. Crying out in pain, but even more in joy, I impaled myself completely on his cock. I finally had him inside me to the balls.
I felt torn and sore, but still I rode him, gently and slowly at first until my growing pleasure gradually overcame my pain. Soon my tension and lust were so strong and uncontrollable, I was bouncing furiously up and down on his tool. The bedsprings were squeaking madly. My panting became louder and more ragged. I threw my head back and sweat flew into my eyes, stinging them, but I couldn’t have cared less. I couldn’t bear to even think of ending that incredible fuck for anything in the world. I just kept fucking and fucking and fucking with all the energy and enthusiasm and lascivious horniness I possessed.
But all things, including wonderful fucks, must end, and for me, the ending was spectacular. I exploded in a magnificent orgasm, totally consuming my entire body. It was, by far, the biggest and best I’d ever experienced.
I felt as if my insides had shattered and burst and gone shooting up and down, from one side to the other, all throughout my convulsing body and inside my exploding head. My spasming cunt gripped him voraciously, repeatedly. My clenching muscles clamped, vise-like around him, keeping him captive. It felt like we would never come apart, just remain that way forever, lustfully locked together.
The overwhelming sensations kept going on and on. Just as the dizzying contractions began to weaken slightly, another climax built up almost immediately and broke, crashing and tumbling through my body. Suddenly, I realized that my vibrator was still pressed against my clit. I couldn’t take any more stimulation. The extreme, intense pleasure had crossed the threshold of my endurance and become pain. I threw the vibrator aside but kept his prick tightly imprisoned inside me while the spasms slowly subsided, leaving a glow of pleasure behind.
Sighing and breathing heavily, I leaned down and laid my head on his chest, feeling content and at peace. After a few moments of well-deserved rest, I wearily pulled myself up off his still-rigid cock, then bent down and licked it clean, relishing my own sweet taste. I moved up on the bed and lay down next to him, sore and shaking, but happy and satisfied beyond anything I had ever known. The wonderful feeling extended to all aspects of my being – body, mind, and soul.
I was no longer a virgin, could never again be called an old maid, or that hideous word, spinster. If my aching insides weren’t enough to confirm my deflowering, the spots of blood on the sheet and the pink tinge to the juice I’d lapped off his phallus proved it.
My bedroom was totally quiet and still again. It seemed strange to me that this place of ecstatic pleasure and voluptuous sensuality hadn’t changed in some palpable way. It was still the same familiar, calm and peaceful room of my maiden years even though I had changed so much myself.
I smiled and looked over to my right to see my lover lying there, smiling as broadly and contentedly as I was. I reached out and touched his face, his hand, his arm, his leg, and then very gently and lovingly, caressed his sturdy phallus.
It was then that I found myself wondering, “If a life-sized doll with an attached phallus is this fantastic, how much more incredible would a flesh-and-blood, living, breathing, loving man be?”
For the time being, at least, I could only imagine, although I hoped, with all my heart, not to mention my body, that one day soon I’d be lucky enough to find out. But until that day came, I knew I’d be OK. I’d do just fine whether I found a man or not. After all, I had my very own toyboy!
Butterfield 8 For 4
Lena (Oakland, USA)
As Addison spoke with the restaurant hostess, I watched a group of people near the bar – three men and a woman. They were all attractive people but that’s not what held my attention. I saw, even from several yard
s away, the glimmer in her eye and heard the lilt in her voice. I became her, just for a few seconds, because the situation she found herself in was the one to which I often masturbated: one woman surrounded by men. I envied her and wondered if her evening would turn out anything like my fantasies. For her sake, I hope they did, for I held little hope that mine would ever live up to my own imagination.
Please understand that I am not disappointed – not really – that I am not likely to live out my three-to-one ratio fantasy where every man wants to fuck me and, because all of them are irresistible, I give every man that opportunity. In fact, in my fantasies, everybody is dying to experience what’s under my unprepossessing clothing and, for some reason, I am eager to reveal it.
In real life, though, I am pretty but shy. I am the quintessential good wife with the requisite number of children (two), the charming house (mortgaged), and the attentive husband (when he’s not preoccupied with his job). As I watched the men in the restaurant usher the lucky woman to their table, my mind wandered to a place it shouldn’t – a place very much at odds with the anniversary dinner I was about to share with Addison.
But Addison had encountered someone he knew and was shaking hands and exchanging greetings, so my mind had all the permission it needed to reconstruct the evening according to my wanton and forbidden fantasies. It would have to begin, I decided, before we left the house that night . . .
“Are you sure this is what you want me to wear? I feel kind of slutty.”
I stand before my husband in a mini-skirt and thigh-high boots. My long blonde hair hangs in graceful waves around my shoulders. I know I look great but my usual look is not quite so blatantly sexual. I need his assurance.
His eyes sparkle. “Perfect,” he replies. “Everybody who sees you will wish they were me.”
He kisses me and runs his hand along my thigh. I kiss him back, enjoying the precious time we’ve arranged for ourselves this weekend. The weekend babysitter has just arrived and, after dinner at Butterfield 8, we are off to cloister ourselves in the Peninsula Hotel downtown. I can’t wait to have him all to myself, with no screaming children and no obligations.
Butterfield 8 on a Friday night teems with hipsters, curiosity seekers, and those who want to be seen. The food is only one of the reasons we like to patronize the place – the spectacle of humanity never fails to disappoint. Even the wait staff provides unwitting entertainment.
As we make our way through the crowd to check in with the hostess, I avert my eyes from all the stares that come my way. My outfit turns as many heads as Addison predicted, and though I am accustomed to admiring glances, drooling stares are relatively new to me. I’m not sure I’d want it every day of my life, but for tonight, it is strangely invigorating.
Addison speaks with the hostess as I look around. My eyes widen when I caught sight of Jeff and John at the bar.
“Addison!” I nearly shout to be heard over the din of the crowd. “Look over there! Jeff and John are here!”
“Well, let’s join them! Our table won’t be ready for a few more minutes.”
Neither of the men have ever looked at me the way they do tonight. I am reminded of those cartoon wolves, the ones with the gleaming eyes and teeth. I giggle at their stares as I approach.
“What the heck are you guys doing here?” I say, giving them each a hug.
“We’ve gotta eat, too, you know,” Jeff says, laughing. “With Amy gone, I have to fend for myself.”
“Most men would just open a can of tuna,” I tease. “I didn’t realize Donna was gone, too. . .” I say to John.
“Yeah – visiting Bruce and Jane down in Tampa.”
“So, we’ve got you all to ourselves,” Addison says, grinning.
“You look stunning tonight, Lena,” Jeff observes. John agrees. I bask in the attention.
The air in the bar changes for me at that moment. A hush seems to fall, as if somebody had thrown a thick blanket over the crowd to muffle the dull roar. I look from my husband to Jeff to John and back again. My imagination is surely working overtime. It is just a coincidence that they are here. Without their wives. Assessing me like I was prey. I had to know for sure; my fantasies are too good to be true.
“Did you guys know we would be here?” I ask Jeff and John.
Addison answers. “Yes, honey. I thought we’d surprise you.”
“So we’re all having dinner together?”
“And whatever else comes up,” Jeff winks.
My heart races. My pulse pounds in my ears. Addison stands there, beaming, proud of me and eager, apparently, to share me with his best friends. Amy and Donna virtually never travel without their husbands, so the situation is a once-in-a-lifetime set of circumstances. I am suddenly very aware of my pussy.
“Taylor,” comes the growl of the hostess. “Table for four.”
As we walk to our table, men and women turn to watch me pass. The attention fuels my confidence – I walk taller and even sway my hips as a result of the multitude of gazes. I am a high fashion model on an exclusive Paris runway, secure in the knowledge that I strike awe in my audience.
The women are especially disconcerting. I read envy in their eyes and slowly realize that a woman with three men is indeed an enviable situation. I savour their stares and let my eyes linger on their men, just for fun.
I’ve never been so wet in my life.
We are seated at one of the restaurant’s best tables, a banquette that faces the centre of the room. The men let me slide in first and all I can think about is being careful not to leave traces of my moistness on the leather cushions.
I can barely focus on my menu. The talk among the men seems harmless enough but I can’t concentrate on that, either. John decides I need a drink. I don’t hear what he orders for me. When the waitress returns with a tray of drinks, she puts a pink concoction before me and leans in toward the table.
“A pretty drink for a pretty lady,” she purrs, winking at me. She is tall and voluptuous, a short-haired blonde pixie with innocence long ago lost. I smile back, uncertain how to flirt with a woman.
“Whoa, you got it goin’ on tonight, Lena,” John declares after the waitress leaves. “Even the women want a piece of you.”
“I’m sure she flirts with everybody,” I say, trying to sound dismissive but smiling at my own excitement.
The men laugh uproariously and Jeff touches my hair. “I think she’s hot for you.”
“Well, I’ve got enough to handle right here at this table,” I joke.
Addison orders dinner for me and when the waitress delivers it, she addresses me directly. “How are you doing tonight, sweetheart? Was that drink okay?”
“Oh, yes. It was fine. Thank you.”
“Good. Beautiful women should always be kept happy,” she says, running her tongue slowly over her lips before sauntering away.
“If she could, she’d take you right on this table,” Jeff teases. I am too embarrassed to respond.
“I have an idea,” John whispers to me. “Why don’t you go to the ladies room and take off your panties? I’m sure they must be soaked by now, anyway.”
Out of habit, I look at Addison, whether for support or defence, I am not sure. Not having heard John’s suggestion, though, Addison only looks at me sweetly and smiles, raising his eyebrows in eerie encouragement.
“Go ahead. You know you want to,” John urges.
“Would you excuse me, John? I need to go to the ladies room,” I announce so the table will hear me.
“Of course,” he replies, sliding out of the booth to let me out.
My walk to the restroom leaves me tingling and shaky. Heads still turn, eyes still stare with longing. Am I dreaming? What kind of night is this? I am so wet, I truly believe my juices are running down the insides of my thighs.
Inside the stall in the restroom, I lean against the door, close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. The broken lock prevents it from staying closed, so my weight against it is the only way to ensure priv
acy.
Should I really take my panties off? My skirt is so short. Should I risk it? Is John telling the table right now that I am in here taking off my panties at his request? I like it, damn it. I like knowing they are talking about me, getting hard for me, fantasizing about what they’ll do to me. Maybe they’ll even share their plans with the waitress!
I slip out of my damp panties, forgetting to hold the door shut. As it creeps open, I look up to see the waitress standing there with a cigarette, smirking as she watches me. My pussy throbs. Nobody else is in the restroom and a heavy silence hangs between us. I stare back at the waitress at first with shock but then with intrigue. I open my mouth to speak, but to say what? Spew curses at her? Politely excuse myself? Invite her into the stall? My mind is a jumble of erotic possibilities.
I freeze, panties in hand, the hem of my skirt around my waist. Oh, God, I wince. Why don’t I invite her in? Why do I behave like a frightened suburbanite? Just as I start to speak, the waitress turns around and casually walks out.
My panties hang in limp defeat from my motionless hand, as if I’ve tried to signal surrender with them but the other side hasn’t been watching.
My drink sloshes around in my stomach and disrupts my thoughts until I can think of nothing else to do but return to the table. Wadding the panties up into a ball, I stuff them into my tiny purse with a sigh.
I stifle a big giggle as I walk past the curious diners. My pussy tingles with arousal, especially now that it is free. I like having this new secret – no, these two secrets! – safely tucked into my mind. Hello, I imagine myself nodding at the gaping clientele. Yes, it’s true that there’s even less between you and my pussy than ever before. And, by the way, I almost had sex with a woman! Cool air circulates under my skirt. It really does feel better to have those panties off!
The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies Page 38
