My head fell forward and I arched my back for deeper penetration. A whimper of pleasure escaped my lips as Steve’s cock hit deep in my womb. He grunted and picked up the pace, his cock hammering into me as he watched Tom pull out of Emma’s mouth and spray jism all over her tits.
“Oh yeah, Steve,” I urged. “Let go, fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
His hands gripped my hips fiercely and he panted loudly and fought to hold back his own orgasm. My belly tightened and I felt my cunt clutching at him. Then the tremors started. From deep inside I could feel my orgasm building. “Yes, that’s it. Harder! Yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chanted until I felt my pussy walls spasm and juices run down my spread thighs in release. A few hard thrusts and I felt Steve’s come shoot into me hotly before we both collapsed onto the floor, only to stay there in a languid heap trying to catch our breaths.
I must’ve drifted off to sleep because then I heard Steve’s voice from a distance as his hand gently shook my shoulder.
“Excuse me, Miss. Are you okay?”
I smiled up into his polite gaze, his polite distant gaze. Confused, I looked around at the near empty space surrounding us and realized I had drifted off to sleep . . . on the train!
Heat flooded my cheeks and I scrambled for my bag on the seat beside me. Mumbling thanks and apologies, I dashed for the exit before the doors slid shut, not caring if it was my stop or not.
It wasn’t my stop. It was one stop past where I usually got off, but that was okay. Placing one foot in front of the other, I started off for home, a smile slowly spreading across my face as I felt the wetness between my thighs. My sojourn into fantasy-land had prepared my body well and I wondered if Emma was home from work yet. After I tell her about my dream, it shouldn’t be too hard to convince her tonight would be a good night to go on a manhunt.
Skirts and Shoes
Lydia (New Orleans, USA)
As the Italian-looking shoe salesman slips a sleek red heel on my right foot, I see him look up my skirt. I feel an immediate rush and do my best to pretend I don’t notice.
Wearing a navy blue mini-skirt, my foot up on the stool and my knee high, he has a clear view of my crotch. He blinks, looks at the shoe he just slipped on my foot, then looks back up at my crotch and says, “How does it fit?”
“Fine.” I feel nice and hot as I switch feet, lifting my left knee now, my skirt climbing even higher. I run my hands through my long brown hair and lean back. He takes another look at my panties. I can see the top of my thigh-high stockings, so I know he’s getting a great view.
According to two ex-boyfriends, my legs are my best feature. But the shoe salesman isn’t looking at my legs. My panties are extra sheer, skimpy white panties, with enough of my dark pubic hair sticking out the sides to make it interesting.
At thirty, I’m several years older than the salesman, who’s brazen enough to stare at my crotch as he finishes slipping on the left shoe.
I stand and walk around, catching the attention of a heavy-set man who has been dragged into the store by his equally heavy wife. He stares at my legs as I step around and watches me sit.
I point my knees in his direction so he can get a look. I cross my legs like a man, knee outward, and toy with the shoe’s instep. Then I lean back and let the shoes salesman take off the shoes and slip on a black pair.
A very skinny man, passing in the mall, stops and pretends to look in the windows at the shoes. He watches me as I lift one knee and then the next. With my knees this high, he can’t help but see my panties, even at his distance.
My shoes salesman looks as if he’s counting pubic hairs.
The black shoes don’t fit and I thank him and grab my purse. He smiles and puts my blue heels back on, taking his time, taking another long look.
He’s the fourth salesman I’ve flashed today. Standing, he adjusts his crotch as I leave. Two men follow me as I head down the mall. I love it, turning them on. I slow, but pass the next ladies shoes store. It’s one of those where you have to try the shoes on yourself. Without a salesman’s face a few inches from my crotch, what’s the point?
The last store in the mall has no customers. I spot the shoe stools, so I know the salesmen help you here, so I go in. A short, balding man comes out of the back and smiles at me. I ask to try on a pair of white heels, give him my size, then sit facing the mall.
As the bald salesman arrives, and I lift my knee, I see the skinny man is back, looking in the window. My bald shoe salesman doesn’t seem to notice at first, but I catch him stealing a peek as I switch legs.
Two pair of shoes later, I walk out, my crotch damp now. The skinny man shadows me, but leaves me as I walk out to my car and drive off. On my way home, I fantasize about driving over to New Orleans next weekend. I’ll visit the ladies shoe stores on Royal Street. In my fantasy, I don’t wear panties. I hope I’m brave enough.
In a white blouse and my extra-short, red mini-skirt, I wear thigh-high stockings again and red heels. I feel the summer breeze on my bare arse as I move down Royal Street from the Monteleone Hotel. I’m dolled up, extra make-up, crimson lipstick, my hair curled with the wet look. As I pass an antique shop window, I catch my reflection. I have “fuck me” written all over. I stop outside my first shoe store and see the mandatory stools inside and two male salesmen. On my way in I see the police station is across the narrow French Quarter street. Two young cops give me a long look.
The two salesmen each ask if they can help. Both in their forties, the white one is dapper in a blue suit. The second is dark, African-Latino looking. He needs a haircut and his white shirt is dishevelled.
“Size six, please,” I tell the dishevelled man as I pick up a white high heel. He smiles at me and eagerly goes to fetch the shoes.
I move to a row of chairs facing the street, subtly pushing the stool closer to the chair before sitting to face the street. Draping my purse across the seat next to me, I cross my legs to remove my shoes. I roll my hips to either side to tug down my skirt, which does little to hide anything. As soon as I uncross my legs, my entire crotch will be in view. The two cops are still across the street, still looking this way.
The dishevelled man moves to the stool, lies two shoe boxes next to it and sits. I put my right foot up on the stool, my knee extra high because the stool is closer than normal. The man digs out a shoe and starts putting it on. The top of his head rises slightly and I know he’s getting a full bush shot.
His hands tremble. I reach for my purse and pretend to look for something in it. He finishes with my right foot, so I throw it over the side and bring up my left knee, my legs open for a second. Then again, with my left knee high, my pussy’s right there, about a foot from his face.
The man in the blue suit moseys over in front of me and takes a look as he passes. I close my purse and sit back up and then rise and walk around with the new shoes.
“They’re a little tight,” I say as I sit again, my knees pointed at the dishevelled man.
“I have a half-size larger,” he says, digging into another box.
I kick off the shoes, lean back and put my right foot up on the stool again. Leaning back opens my crotch even more. The blue suit moves back. “They’re Parisian,” he says, pointing to the shoes.
He’s getting a nice look at my French-American pussy, but I don’t say anything. I dig into my purse again and pull out my lipstick and mirror. The dishevelled man finishes with my right foot and I throw it over the side as I open my mirror. I take a second before lifting my left knee, my knees open wide for them.
I reapply my lipstick as the man takes his time with my left shoe. Peeking around the mirror, I see both men leering at my bush. When I stand up to walk around, I have to pull my skirt down, it’s risen so high.
“No,” I tell them. “I don’t like the look, actually.”
“What about these?” The man in the blue suit shows me a different shoe.
“No,” I tell them as I slip on my shoes and leave them panting, maybe not on the outsid
e, but I know I got to them.
The cops are gone. I shrug and continue down Royal Street. The breeze flows up my skirt and I’m damp already. The next two shoe stores have women sales staff. I pass two more without the mandatory stools.
I almost miss a narrow one sandwiched between two art stores. No customers here, either, but the stools are there. As I step in, a young salesman steps out of the back. He’s in his early twenties with straight dark hair and a nice square jaw.
“May I help you?”
I pick up a black heel and ask for my size.
Sitting, I pull the stool closer, kick off my shoes and wait. A blond-haired clone of the salesman comes out of the back. Square-jawed too, he smiles at me, moves around and glances at my crossed legs.
“It’s beautiful out there today, isn’t it?”
“The weather’s gorgeous,” I tell him as my salesman returns with two shoe boxes.
As soon as I raise my knee, they both look and their silence is exquisite. It takes a second for my dark-haired salesman to get started. These guys are too young to be subtle.
They try small talk. More about the weather as I open my knees to switch to my left foot, then lean back to give them a clearer view. Smiling at one another as I stand and walk around, they watch me – captives of their hormones.
I like that in a man.
I sit and cross my legs like a man again, playing with the shoe’s instep, my legs open. They stare at my bush. I wonder if they can see pink.
“Do you have this a half-size larger?”
They both nod. My salesman reaches for the second box without looking at it as I sit in front of him again. Leaning back, I raise my right knee. As he slips on the newest shoe I reach down and start working my stocking up.
“These things always slip down,” I say as I pull up the stocking, my fingers rising higher and higher until I have the elastic between my fingers. I open my leg slightly to pull the stocking all the way to my crotch.
Both of them let out a little gasp.
Switching to the other stocking, I open my legs more to pull the elastic all the way up. Looking up, I see they are staring at my bush, as if mesmerized. I’m so hot, I feel my chest rise.
I throw my right foot off the stool and raise my left foot for the second shoe. The salesman lets out a long sigh and says, “Wow.”
“Y’all enjoying the view?” I say languidly, as I lean back.
“Oh, yeah,” the salesman says to my pussy.
I look up at the blond man, who pulls his gaze away to smile at my face.
“Come on now,” I tell them. “I’ll bet y’all see a bush or two every day.”
The man with one hand on my left calf and one on the left shoe he’s easing on to my foot shakes his head slowly. He lets go of the shoe and brushes his hair out of his eyes, his left hand still on my calf.
“We talk about what it’d be like trying shoes on a naked woman. But it’s all a fantasy.”
I bite my lower lip and nod toward the door. “Lock the door and maybe your fantasy will come true.”
He looks up at me with those wide brown eyes and smiles. The blond needs no further instructions. He hurries and locks the door and draws down the door shade. Anyone stopping on the street to look in the window will still be able to see my back, but I tell myself, let the show begin.
“Take off the shoes,” I tell my salesman as I start unbuttoning my blouse. He pulls them off and leans back as the blond pulls a stool up next to him to sit on. I hand him my blouse.
I unhook my bra and pass it to the dark-haired one, freeing my breasts. They stare, as if hypnotized by my nipples. Taking in a deep breath, I reach back and unbutton my skirt and work the zipper down. I have to close my legs in order to pull my skirt down. I stop when I get to my knees.
“You wanna take it the rest of the way?”
They both reach, hesitate and then carefully pull my skirt off.
I lean back and open my legs.
“Why don’t each of you take a stocking?”
They move forward and my dark-haired salesman is brash enough to let his little finger touch my pubic hair as they tuck their fingers into the top of my stockings and pull them down and off. They leer at my body parts, looking at my tits and then at my pussy and then back again.
“So,” I say, my voice deeper now. “You’ve seen me. I’d like to see a little skin.”
They rise quickly and pull off their clothes in a rush, dropping them on the floor. A moment later I had two raging hard-ons in front of my face. Both point up like flagpoles. The blond’s is taller and thinner, the other thicker.
I run my fingers across the front of my bush, touching the wet folds of my pussy lips, slipping a finger inside momentarily.
“Oh, I wish I had a camera,” the blond says.
The dark-haired man grabs his dick and I point to it and say, “I’ll take that one first.”
Spreading my legs, I shimmy my arse forward as he moves to me. Resting his hands on the chair’s arms, he presses his dick forward. I grab his hot crank and squeeze it gently and guide it to my wet bush.
I feel its tip press against my pussy lips. I gasp as he works his hips forward and his thick cock slides into me. I shudder and crane my neck up to kiss his lips. He shoves his tongue into my mouth as his cock sinks completely in me.
And he fucks me right there, with his partner watching and who knows who peeking in the front window. We rock back and forth, his sweet, delicious cock screwing me good. I feel myself come inside and he keeps banging away, his balls slapping my arse. I keep rising, keep getting hotter and when he spurts inside, in long, deep gushes, I come again deeper and hotter.
As soon as he slips off, the blond is there, sliding his cock in me, reaching his mouth down to kiss me and I’m off again to another good fucking. He slows twice but I keep bucking against him and pull out his come as he gushes inside.
I don’t hear the tapping until he slides off me.
The dark-haired salesman stands half-dressed facing a front window. The blond lets out a worried gasp as I see two cops looking in. One taps his knuckle against the window while the other points to the door.
Lying there with my legs open I watch the salesman nervously let the cops in. One is black and the other white. Closer to my age, they look so cute in those baby-blue police uniform shirts and dark blue pants.
Both stare at my body as they step up.
The white one says, “Y’all have something to cover those windows?”
“No,” one of the salesmen croaks.
“Y’all have a back room?”
“Yeah.”
The black cop moves forward, takes a long look at my open, sopping pussy and then reaches down and scoops me up in his arms in one scoop.
“You, OK?”
I nod.
“You wanna file a complaint . . . or . . . would you like to feel a real man fuck you?”
I lean forward and kiss his wide lips and he tongues me and carries me to the back room. His partner has moved ahead of us and clears a space on the carpet. The black cop lies me gently on the carpet and stands over me. He hands his gunbelt to his partner and then his shirt.
His partner steps out into the store and I hear him telling the salesman to get dressed and keep the door locked.
The black cock is bigger and thicker than any I’ve ever seen. He kneels between my open legs and climbs on me and mounts me. I’m wet as hell but it still takes a minute to work that big cock into me. It fills me completely and I cry out as he starts worming it inside me.
We kiss and bounce against one another. He grinds and I grind back. He fucks me long and hard and I come twice before he fills me with his African come. The second cop is already naked and gives me a quick fuck. Smaller in stature, he sucks my tits as he screws me and I come once again before he spurts inside.
Rising, he dresses quickly.
The black cop steps back in completely dressed. He sits next to me and asks if I’m OK.
> I nod and smile at him.
“We got a car around the corner,” he says. “We can drive you to your car. Unless you want us to leave you here.”
“I could use a towel and something cool to drink.”
He grins at me.
One towel and one Coke later, the two cops help me dress and walk me out the store and around the corner to their car.
“We spotted you as soon as you started down Royal,” the white cop tells me.
“I know,” I say, then tell them my car’s parked in the lot across from the Monteleone. On the way, the black cop looks back at me and tells me I have a great pair of legs.
As I climb out, my legs are wobbly, so I lean against their car. The black cop gets out and asks if I’m OK again.
“Yes, actually. Just a little wobbly.” I have to laugh at myself.
“You do this often?”
I shake my head.
He passes me his business card and says, “Next time, give me a call and I’ll arrange a great flashing, great fuck-a-thon for you, Baby.”
So that’s what the police call a gang-bang. A fuck-a-thon.
New Orleans – my kinda town.
Conduct Unbecoming
Nola (Toronto, Canada)
When he asks if he can fuck me every day, and I nod yes, he smiles. But, when he asks me if 7 will fuck him every day, and I say, “Yes, every day,” – he comes – and I am one step closer to taking everything I want from him.
I’m a dominant woman and I want my man submissive. I want to be the top to his bottom; always. As a policeman, his daily life is filled with decision-making and a sense of being in charge. Quite simply, he spends a lot of time telling other people what to do, why they should do it, and when to do it. I want all of that to change though when he walks through the front door at home and faces me; I need to be in charge here. I want this.
Toronto is a big city with a lot of places to hide and I will give him the extra task, as he drives around his division, of finding a secluded spot where I can visit him while he’s working. I see myself waiting in my car, seat tilted back. Dusk has just turned to night and, although I can’t see anyone else, the buzz of the city is near enough to touch. I’m wearing high heels and a loose-fitting dress, nothing else. High heels because he is taller than me and they will give me the extra few inches I need; loose dress because underneath I have my strap-on harness cinched tightly. It’s the one with straps that secure around my upper thighs, leaving my pussy fully accessible. While I wait I play with the double-ended rubber dildo that I will fit in the O-ring when he arrives. But, for now, I fuck myself slowly with the end that I’m going to fuck him with.
The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies Page 50
