by Violet Blue
A Recent Favorite
ROSE KELLEY
John Fleck
> yours, with the first time we meet in
> person. Explain and elaborate, please.
>
> But maybe there are other fantasies to explore.
> Suzanne Ramsey wrote:
A recent favorite:
I come over to your house for the first time. As we walk in, small talk is made, a little awkward smiling and laughing. You are seeing me for the first time; you like that I wore a skirt and blouse to meet you. I walk across your living room and make a point of checking out your couches. Light comes in through the window, revealing my legs, ass, and breasts through both skirt and blouse. I’m not wearing a bra.
Your telephone rings. You excuse yourself and answer. You’re watching me look around the room as you talk. I wander over to the bookcase and pull out a title, thumbing through. It’s important to you; you don’t like people to be casual with that title. You put your hand over the phone and ask me to be careful. I look directly at you, and drop the book on the floor. It’s loud. The person on the phone asks you what the noise was. You make a flustered excuse and hang up quickly. I am still looking at you.
Calmly, you walk over and ask me to pick up the book. I cross my arms and look out the window. You move very close to my face; you could kiss me if you wanted to. We have never kissed. I can smell your skin. I imagine that I can smell your anger. You can definitely smell my fear, but I do not move.
You slowly smile and reach behind me, snaking your hand up into my hair. It’s soft. It feels good to me, your hot hand cradling my head. You squeeze your fist and get a handful of hair. I stiffen, unable to move. You move in closer, and your lips brush mine. You say, “Pick it up.”
The light from the window on my face shows a veil of sweat beginning to cover my brow, nose, and upper lip. You step back and lower my head down toward the floor, toward the open book with its pages folded underneath it. I reach, and pick up the book. Bent over, you can see the rounded curve of my asscheeks where they come together in the center. You bring me back up to standing. I look into your eyes, and I drop the book again.
More?
John Fleck
> Definitely, more.
> Suzanne Ramsey wrote:
There is no sound. You look at the book, pages crushed again, then back to me. My breathing seems loud. A struggle of sound erupts in your apartment as you yank my head, leading me face first by the back of the head toward the nearest couch. I wiggle and push away at your body, making little grunting noises, and my feet scrape the floor. You’ve got my head fast and firm and I trip, falling onto my bare knees. You haul me back up, wailing now, dragging me on faulty legs. My knee is scraped, and my face is flushed red.
Jerking my head around, you sit on the couch. I am half-crouched, pitifully trying to stand. I can’t see it, but your free hand finds its way to my blouse, my teacup breasts. One rough squeeze on one breast, the other hand pausing to pinch and pull my nipple. I give a little squeal. You pause, as if to appraise the noise, then move your hand to the center of my chest. With one rip, my blouse comes open. I gasp, and my eyes are wide as saucers.
Your lap roughly abrades my now-erect, pencil-eraser nipples. I’m trying to move away, but I can’t. This angers you further, and you haul me over your lap. I struggle and kick in the air in futility. I can feel your erection through your pants, poking me in the stomach.
You switch hands and press my face into the couch, where my sounds become muffled. With the other hand, my skirt gets hiked up over my bottom, with a little difficulty. I’m wearing sheer white panties, and the movement has settled them into the crack of my ass. Suddenly I’ve become still. I’m frightened.
Shall I go on?
John Fleck
>
> Are you crazy? Of course go on!
>
> Suzanne Ramsey wrote:
I’m trying to be perfectly still, but you can feel me trembling a little. My hips are moving slightly and you can feel them moving against your cock. The heat from my pussy is radiating into your lap. You reach to cup a cheek in your hand and I jump, startled at the soft touch. You grab a handful of my ass and move it, so that my panties go further into my crack. My breathing is now labored, my mouth is open against your couch.
You grab the other cheek, and I start again. This annoys you. I feel your hand move away, and you pull back and deliver a hard smack, square on both cheeks. Crying out, I arch my back and kick my feet into the couch like a petulant child. I’m moving around on your lap, trying to somehow get away from your monstrous hands. You grab the waistband of my panties and lift me off your lap for a second: I hear a ripping sound. You yank them off my hips, leaving angry red scrapes as I try to make it more difficult for you. Your cock is merciless, poking me every time I move.
The panties are shoved down around my knees and keep my legs together. I’m still wiggling, and you plant another hard slap on my ass. The color is changing, and you can see two faint, almost abstract red hands emerging in my white skin. I’m gasping for air, and I arch my ass higher off your lap. It’s as if I want more. You comply.
I moan when the third blow is landed, muffled and wet, into the cushion. But you hit my ass harder the next time and I try to move away from you again. You pause and admire the color, rising and deepening. You pass your hand over it and feel that the skin is hot: I hiss from this sensation on my raw skin. You let go of my head and grab the back of my neck, still pressing me down, and deliver a series of sharp spanks, one after another as I yell, scream, and sob. I’m moving all over the place, I won’t stay still.
You stop as I cry and take shortened breaths, but only to push the panties down more and shove one of my knees over your lap. My legs are spread now, and you have a full view of my ass and shaved pussy. It glistens. You put your whole hand, flat, over my vulva and cup my pussy. The wetness seems ridiculous, it’s everywhere. You take two fingers and trace them over the puffy outer lips, drawing the wetness around. I’m finally quiet and still.
Your two fingers dip into the fold alongside my clit and you press: I stiffen. You slip your fingers to my slit; it feels velvety. I relax. Your fingers slide inside me and I gasp. You leave them there. I wait. You do not move. I can’t help it, I start to buck my hips toward your fingers, trying to fuck myself on your hand. You allow it for a moment; when I’m really losing myself you pull your hand away. I whine. You pull your hand back, and begin to spank my exposed pussy.
Had enough?
John Fleck
>
> Suzanne Ramsey wrote:
On the first blow, your hand hits my spread pussy with a wet smack. I jump and you have to grab my neck again, and though the spanks are lighter than the pummeling you gave my ass, I’m making mewling noises and breathing hard. On the third spank, my leg slides further to the floor, making my pussy wider. Next spank, you feel the soft, smooth wetness of my outer lips, and the bud of my swollen clit impacts your hand. You stop, push my body up so that my pussy is centered on your lap, and reach to open your fly.
I feel your hand under me as you unzip, move slightly, and your hot, hard cock presses against my pubic bone. The skin is so soft. You move so that your cock is between my outer lips and presses against my clit. With a slow, deliberate movement, you close my legs around your erection, engulfing it in the sticky wetness of my vulva and thighs. With my legs closed, you spank my ass, hard.
I scream and buck, inadvertently plunging your cock up and down the outside of my pussy. I can feel your heat, and I’ve gotten you all wet. You strike again, and when I writhe I keep my legs together, making a delicious suction around you. Again, and I howl, moving against you. Again, and I sob while your penis rubs my clit in pleasure that’s practically unbea
rable.
You realize you don’t need to hold my neck down anymore. That’s no fun for you. You roll me off you, onto the floor. I look up at you on my knees, unable to sit down completely, so that my lags are parted and my ass juts out obscenely. You tell me to come to you and lick you clean. You survey me: I’m red-faced, my makeup has made black rings under my eyes, my lipstick is smeared, my blouse is torn open, and my skirt is around my waist. I move forward and begin to gingerly lick your sticky cock.
Are you still awake?
John Fleck
> of bedtime story, I am, oddly,
> still awake. Continue, if you’re up to it.
> Suzanne Ramsey wrote:
My little tongue flickers and grazes your cockhead. I jump when you bolt forward and grab my head with both hands. You put your face very close to mine. You inhale, and force a kiss on my mouth, deep and hard. Your tongue is unrelenting, and you crush my lips. You stop and say, “Like that.”
I smile, and stick my tongue out at you. Forcing my head down, you press your cock on my lips, forcing them apart. I finally yield, and open my mouth, sliding all the way down until your pubic hair touches my nose. I choke and sputter. And suck.
You let go of my head and I start working your cock up and down in my mouth. I press my lips together to make a tight fit, and my cheeks go in slightly as I bob up and down. I’m enjoying it, devouring you. But I’m not supposed to like it too much, so you grab my hair again and pull me off, leaving my mouth in an open O shape. You hold me still while you stroke your cock with the other hand, pulling and squeezing, pausing.
You let go and push me hard back onto my ass. I cry out from the pain and try to scuttle away to the side. I turn slightly to crawl but you’re fast, on top of me, and I yell again from the rough fabric of your jeans on my tender skin. On my stomach, I reach to claw the floor for traction but can’t move. You’ve grabbed my hips with both hands and dragged me back to you, and I feel your cock nose the opening of my pussy. In one rough thrust, you’re in. And you stay there, still, while my pussy convulses around you.
You begin to move inside me, in short, hard thrusts. I’m breathing harder, balling my fists on the floor. You have my hips like handles, jerking me onto you, jerking you off into me. One hand releases and I feel your fingers press my clit, hard, and I start to buck on your cock, trying to make you go faster. You won’t. I move harder, until I’m the one pushing into you. The pain of the skin on my ass is lost—until you let go of my clit, grab my hips again, and hold them down as you pull out. I begin to beg you to fuck me.
With both hands you grab my asscheeks, and I squeal. You part them and I know what is next. The slick, fat head of your cock pushes against the opening of my ass, nuzzling. Wetly, you begin to slide in, slowly at first, and my breath is coming in heaves. Your head pops in; it’s so tight in there, and you can feel the muscles constricting around your cock. You pull my hips up off the floor, onto your cock, so that you enter me all the way and I shriek. Leaning over, you reach in front of me to grab my breasts, and you roll my nipples between your fingers. I start to grind on your cock, and this time you oblige me, fucking my ass in a forced, jerky rhythm. Within a minute, you can feel my muscles getting tighter around you, and my breathing has quieted. My nipples are very hard between your fingers; you know I’m about to come. Your cock stiffens further inside me as the constriction becomes almost enough to push you out. You shove your fingers in my mouth, and at that instant, I exhale hard and you feel my ass and pussy squeeze down on your cock again and again as I rock back onto you, coming on your cock. The contractions milk you, pull the come out of you, and you go over the edge of your orgasm. You explode and lose control. I feel your cock shudder and your come shoot into me, hot and wet.
Yours,
Suzanne
Auto Erotica
ALISON TYLER
“Red light,” Molly announces gleefully, resting her hand on top of Jason’s thigh and squeezing. He removes his tie and tosses it at her, and she giggles and uses it to pull her hair away from her face, knotting the expensive scarlet silk in a bow beneath her ebony mane.
How pretty she looks in the pale twilight, her face kissed with a fever-flush of excitement. He smiles at her, and nearly runs the red, but she stops him in time, saying, “Red light,” and flicking her bangs out of her face with a triumphant little nod—the same look she wears when she creams him at tennis. Jason unbuttons his blue shirt and pitches it into the back seat where it comes to rest on top of his loafers, belt, slacks, and socks. The only items of hers in the pile are a crocheted white sweater and her high-heeled sandals.
“Red light,” she says, “Red light, Jas.” He’s already down to his striped boxers, still a good ten miles from home. But now his luck changes. They zip through two greens in a row, and Molly, giving him the sweetest smile ever, a light pink color to her cheeks, takes off her white thigh-high fishnets, one at a time, and adds them to the pile. Jason speeds through a yellow—obviously hoping she’ll remove the dress—but she calls “Foul!” and rightfully so.
There are rules to this game. Silly rules, admittedly, but rules, nonetheless. It’s a spicy, after-work game, a summer-night-on-the-way-home-from-a-show game, an anytime-day-or-night game, if you’re in the mood. And the rules are as follows: Driver removes one article of clothing at every red light (full stops, only—if the light changes as the driver pulls up, it’s the passenger’s turn). Passenger removes an item of dress at each green light. It’s safer that way, if you think about it.
But what happens when one is left without any more pieces to remove, and you’re still miles from home? That, of course, is where the real fun begins.
“Foul,” she pouts. “You cheated. Off with the boxers.” He gives her a sly smile, wondering to himself, Does she really think I mind losing this round?
“Next stop,” he says, “I can’t take ’em off while I’m driving, you know.”
“At the next light, Jas, you owe me. The boxers, plus….”
“Plus…?”
“I’m thinking.” The light ahead turns amber, then crimson, and she blushes as she says, “Take them off, and kiss me there until the light changes.”
There…his sweetheart, his darling, Molly, so shy with the words, but so bold with her actions. She has a difficult time saying “pussy,” would never say “cunt,” can barely say “cock.” Although it makes it that much more exciting for him when she does.
Jason plays fair, now, sliding out of his blue-and-white boxer shorts. As he removes them, Molly hits the “recline” on her seat and he bends and buries his face under her dress. It’s a long light, a three-way, and he has time to run his tongue the length of the seam of her panties, from the waistband down and up again, tasting her fragrant honey through the thin white cotton.
“Go,” she whispers, and he sits back upright, a nude man tooling along in a black VW, grateful, not for the first time, that he doesn’t drive a convertible. They make the next light, and Molly casually peels off her floral sundress. She’s sitting at his side in a matching underwear set that he bought her for Valentine’s day: white bra and panties made of the sheerest cotton, trimmed in delicate eyelet lace. The car is filled with the scent of heat, the intoxicating perfume of her sex rising. The heady aroma makes him dizzy, near-desperate to stop at the next light so that he can taste her again. But he cruises through, despite slowing, and Molly, sitting up again, slides out of her bra. Her pert breasts are a wonder to see, perfectly round and proud, the way they seem to perch on her slender frame. The man in the next car can’t take his eyes off them, either.
“Look at the road,” she admonishes, and Jason works his best to follow her command, although he can’t keep himself from snaking one hand out to touch her rose-petal skin, the softness of her creamy flesh amazing to him as always. How someone could be that soft, that supple, never ceases to astound him. To thrill him.
&nb
sp; “Oh…” she starts, as he makes the next light, because now they’re even. Her panties are at the floor by her feet. Her cheeks are the color of the sky outside, a summer palette of colors, ranging from pink to scarlet. She is lovely when she blushes.
“Call it,” Jason says, watching the light ahead go red.
“No, wait.” And she’s right. This light is a quickie, and it turns green before they make it to the intersection. He putts through it, saying, “Down on me, girl, now,” and she quickly obeys, moving her slender body in the seat to comfortably reach his cock, drinking him down her sweet throat and suckling. “Keep it going ’til the next light,” he tells her, twisting one hand in her dark curls, stroking her naked back, casually losing his hands in the curves, the secret places of her body.
“Dmn’t lmine…” she mumbles, her mouth filled with cock. But he speaks her language, knows what she’s trying to say. She’s warning him not to lie, and he won’t. To trick her, he’d have to go through a red, and safety is important in this game. (Let this be a warning to all you lovers out there making mental notes: You don’t want to be pulled over by a cop for reckless driving. Not with your ID in your wallet and your wallet in your slacks and your slacks in the back seat of the car.)
