Sweet Life 1

by Violet Blue

  I remember all this as I lie here listening to the sounds of children doing homework and preparing for bed. How I long for some privacy and a guarantee of an uninterrupted hour or two. I want to savor the memory of every moment we spent together, maybe not even to touch myself, but just to enjoy the arousal that the memory induces.

  What would I do if I were alone? I imagine that I would remove my clothes and trace with my hands all the places that you touched. The sensations of my own hands on my skin—belly, breasts, cunt—would be enough to trigger climax after climax. And then the wanting would be overpowering and I’d have to be filled.

  I’d retrieve the dildo from the closet shelf and touch its lifelike head to my clit. The cool temperature would be a shock at first, so I’d pull it away and try to warm it with my hands. But my throbbing cunt would have no patience for the warming process, so I’d put the dildo to my opening and push it in. The coldness of that silicone object would provide such a contrast to the warm, velvety firmness of your cock that I’d decide that hard fucking would be the only use for it. I’d grasp the molded base and shove it roughly up inside me, pounding it into me until I felt the squeezing of the deep contractions that only a cock—even if it’s an artificial one—can induce. Then, I’d toss the toy aside and work my swollen pussy lips with my fingers, first firmly, then gently, then firmly again, bringing myself to orgasm after orgasm until I’d finally fall asleep.

  But I’m not alone, and the demands of the children mean that I won’t have an hour to myself anytime soon. One refuge remains, though, one moment of privacy that is respected even by the children. With a full bladder as an excuse, I steal off to the bathroom, my head still filled with images from last night. I pull off my jeans, then my panties, then fall against the bathroom wall as my hand finds my dripping cunt. I use the abundant slipperiness as lube and rub my fingers vigorously back and forth on my clit until the burning pleasure borders on pain. Then I plunge my fingers inside and fuck myself, biting my lip to avoid hollering out as I come, pulling up hard on my clit as the spasms begin to subside, triggering one more climax. Then a slow, gentle finger-fucking brings me down. I sit on the toilet and empty my bladder and come once again as I feel the flow of urine over my still-tingling pussy.

  I can’t wait to be alone with you again.

  Bob & Carol & Ted (But Not Alice)

  M CHRISTIAN

  “What are you afraid of?” Not spoken with scorn, with challenge though. This was Carol, after all. His Carol. The question was sweet, sincere—one lover to another: Really, honestly, what are you frightened of?

  Robert fiddled with his glass of iced tea, gathering his thoughts. He trusted Carol—hell, he’d been happily married to her for five years so he’d better—but even so, it was a door he hadn’t thought of opening in a long time.

  They were sitting in their living room. A gentle rain tapped at the big glass doors to the patio, dancing on the pale blue surface of the pool beyond. In the big stone fireplace, a gentle fire licked at the glowing embers of a log.

  Carol smiled—and, as always, when she did Bob felt himself sort of melt, deep inside. Carol…it shocked him sometimes how much he loved her, trusted her, loved to simply be with her. He counted himself so fortunate to have found the other half of himself in the tall, slim, brown-haired woman. They laughed at the same jokes, they appreciated the same kind of jazz, they both could eat endless platters of sashimi, and—in the bedroom, the garage, the kitchen, in the pool, car, and everywhere else the mood struck them—their lovemaking was always delightful, often spectacular.

  “I don’t know,” Bob finally said, taking a long sip of his drink (needs more sugar, he thought absently). “I mean, I think about it sometimes—it’s not as if I don’t like what we do, but sometimes it crops up. A lot of the time it’s hot, but other times it’s kinda…fuck, disconcerting, you know. Like I should be thinking of what we’re doing, what I want to do with you” —a sly smile there, hand on her thigh, kneading gently—“instead of thinking about, well, another guy.”

  Carol leaned forward, grazing her silken lips across his. As always, just that simple act—one glancing kiss—made his body, especially his cock, respond with desire. “Sweetie,” she said, whispering hoarsely into his ear, “I don’t mind. I think it’s hot. I really do.”

  Bob smiled, flexing his jean-clad thighs to relish in his spontaneous stiffness. “I know—it just feels weird sometimes. I can’t explain it.”

  “What do you think about? Talk to me about it—maybe that’ll help a little bit.” Her hand landed in his lap, curled around his shaft.

  “Pretend I’m not here,” she added, with a low laugh.

  He responded with a matching chuckle. “Oh, yeah, right,” he said, leaning forward to meet her lips. They stayed together, lips on lips, tongues dancing in hot mouths. Bob didn’t know how to respond, so he just followed his instincts—his hand drifted up to cup Carol’s firm, large breasts. Five years and she still had the power to reach down into his sexual self—to get to him at a cock-and-balls level. But there was something else.

  “I think it’s hot,” Carol said again, breaking the kiss with a soft smack of moisture. “I think about it a lot, really. The thought of you with…what was his name again?”

  Bob doubted Carol had really forgotten, but he smiled and played along. “Charley. College friend.” Charley: brown curls, blue eyes, broad shoulders, football, basketball, geology, math, made a wicked margarita. Charley: late one night in their dorm room, both drunk on those wicked margaritas, Charley’s hand on Bob’s knee, then on his hard cock. “We fooled around for most of the semester, then his father died—left him the business. We stayed in touch for a year or so, then, well, drifted away. You know.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Carol said, smiling, laughing, but also tender, caring, knowing there was a Charley-shaped hole somewhere deep inside Bob. Carefully, slowly, she inched down the zipper on his shorts until the tent of his underwear was clearly visible, a small dot of pre-come marking the so-hard tip of his cock. “I think about it when we play—when we fuck.”

  Bob suspected, but hearing Carol say it added extra iron to his already throbbing hard-on. Carol normally wasn’t one to talk during sex. This new, rough voice was even more of a turn-on.

  Bob felt a glow start, deep down. Even to Carol, Charley was something private—but hearing Carol’s voice, he felt as if he could, really, finally share it. “He was something else, Charley was. Big guy, never would have thought it to look at him—that sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  Carol had gotten his shorts down, quickly followed by his underwear. Bob’s cock had never seemed so big, so hard in his life. It was as if two parts of his life had met, with the force of both working to make him hard…so damned hard. Carol kissed the tip, carefully savoring the bead of come just starting to form again at the tip. “No, it doesn’t. You’re speaking from the heart, sexy—since when is anyone’s heart logical or fair?”

  He smiled down at her, taking a moment to playfully ruffle her hair before allowing himself to melt down into the sofa. “I wouldn’t call him ‘sweet’ or ‘nice’—but he could be, sometimes. He just liked…fuck,” the words slipped from his mind as Carol opened her mouth and—at first—slowly, carefully started to suck on his cock. “Fuck…yeah, he liked life, I guess. I don’t even think he thought of himself as gay or anything. He just liked to fuck, to suck, to get laid, you know. But it was special. I can’t really explain it.”

  “You loved him, didn’t you, at least a little bit?” Carol said, taking her lips off his cock for a moment to speak. As she did, she stroked him, each word a downward or upward stroke.

  Bob didn’t say anything, he just leaned back and closed his eyes. He knew she was right but that was one thing he wasn’t quite willing to say—not yet. He’d come a long way, but that was still in the distance.

  Carol smiled, sweetly, hotly, and dropped her mouth onto his cock again. This time her sucking, licking, stroki
ng of his cock was faster, more earnest, and Bob could tell that she was aching to fuck, to climb on top of him and ride herself to a shattering, glorious orgasm. But she didn’t. Instead, she kept sucking, kept stroking his cock, occasionally breaking into a whisper, then said, in a raw, hungry voice: “I think it’s hot… not him just sucking your cock…but that you have had that. I bet sometimes…we look at the same guy…and want to know what he’d be like…to suck…to fuck.”

  Even though Bob was somewhere else, damned near where Carol wanted to be, he knew she was right. It was hot, it was special, and he recognized that. He wanted to haul her off her knees, get dressed, and bolt out the door to do just that. The kid who bagged their groceries sometimes at the Piggly Wiggly, that one linebacker, Russell Crowe: He wanted to take them home, rip off their shirts, lick their nipples, suck their cocks, suck their cocks, suck their cocks—

  Then something went wrong. Just on the edge of orgasm, Carol stopped. Bob felt slapped, as if ice water had just been dumped into his lap. He opened his eyes and looked, goggle-eyed, as Carol got up off the floor, straightening her T-shirt over very hard nipples. “Didn’t you hear that? Of all times for someone to ring the fucking doorbell.”

  Tugging up his pants, Bob rehearsed what he’d say: Mormon missionaries? Slam the door in their faces. Door-to-door salesman? The same. Someone needing directions? “Sorry, but you’re way off,” then do the same…

  Just as Bob got to the door to the living room, he heard Carol—who’d been a lot more dressed to start with—saying, “Ted! How’s it hanging?”

  Bob rounded the corner, a smile already spreading across his face. Of all the people to have knocked on their front door, Ted was probably the only one who would have understood.

  Ted and his charming wife, Alice, lived just across town. Normally, Bob and Carol would never in a million years have crossed paths with them—but it so happened that Ted worked in the coffee place right across the street from where Bob worked. After six months of going back and forth, Bob finally struck up a conversation with Ted and found out, much to his delight, that the tall, sandy-haired young man and he had a lot in common: the Denver Broncos, weekend sailing, and Russell Crowe movies. Bob and Carol felt very relaxed and even sometimes sexually playful around Ted and Alice, even going so far as to have a kind of sex party one night, when they all got way too wasted on tequila and some primo green bud that Ted had scored the night before. All they’d done was watch each other fuck, but it had been more than enough to blast Bob and Carol into happy, voyeuristic bliss—and to fuel their erotic fantasies for weeks afterward.

  “Low and to the right,” Ted answered, smiling wide and broad and planting a quick kiss on Carol’s cheek. Bob gave Ted his own quick greeting—a full-body hug that only when he finished did Bob realize had probably given Ted more than he expected in regard to Bob’s still rock-hard dick.

  Bob and Carol smiled at each other, feeling relaxed and still playful in the presence of their friend. “Where’s Alice at, Teddy? Somewhere in the depths of Colombia?” Bob said. Alice was the other half of Bean Seeing You, their little coffee-house, and was often away trying to wrangle up all kinds of stimulating delicacies—not all of them coffee-related.

  “Worse than that,” Ted said, playfully ruffling his friend’s brown locks. “Nope: deepest, darkest Bakersfield. I’m kinda worried about her—the last expedition down there vanished without a trace.”

  Everyone laughing, more out of released tension than Ted’s weird brand of humor, they retreated back to the living room and the couch. As Bob and Ted sprawled out on the couch while Carol got some drinks, Bob couldn’t help but wonder if their friend had figured out that they’d been almost screwing their brains out a few minutes before. The thought of it made Bob grin wildly.

  “Come on, bro,” Ted said, picking up on the smile. “Out with it.”

  Suddenly tongue-tied, Bob was glad when Carol walked in with three tall, cool drinks. “One for the man of the house” —Bob—“one for the handsome stranger”—Ted—“and one for the horny housewife”—Carol. “Cheers!” she concluded, taking a hefty swallow of her own drink.

  Bob and Ted toasted her, Bob almost coughing as he drank, the drinks being stiff, and then some. He smiled to himself again as he sank back into the sofa. Talking about Charley made him feel as if a secret had been released from some dark, compressed part of his mind. He felt light, airy, almost as though he was hovering over his body, looking down at Ted—tall, curly-haired, quick and bright Ted—and Carol: Carol, who even just thinking of made his body and mind think of their wonderful lovemaking.

  Sneaking a furtive glance at Ted, Bob looked his friend over more carefully. In his new, unburdened vision, Ted looked…well, he wasn’t like Charley, but there was still something about Ted that made Bob think of his college friend—no, his college lover. Something about their height, their insatiable appetite for life, their humor.

  “Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Carol piped up, laughing at her own cliché. Bob and Ted laughed too—but then the sound dropped away to a compressed silence as Carol lifted off her T-shirt and theatrically mopped her brow.

  Bob’s mind bounced from Carol’s beautiful breasts, and her obviously very erect nipples, to Ted’s rapt attention on them. He was proud of Carol, proud that she was so lovely, so sexy. He wanted to reach out and grab her, pull her to him. He wanted to kiss her nipples as Ted watched. He wanted to sit her down on the couch, spread her strong thighs, and lick her cunt until she screamed, moaned, and held onto Bob’s hair as orgasm after orgasm rocketed through her while Ted watched. He wanted to bend her over, slide his painfully hard cock into her, and then fuck her till she moaned and bucked against him as Ted watched. He wanted Ted….

  Carol’s shorts came off next. Naked, she stood in front of them. Like a goddess, she rocked back and forth, showing off her voluptuous form. But even though he loved her, and thought she was probably the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, Bob turned to look at Ted.

  Ted, with the beautiful Carol standing right there in the room with him, was, instead, looking at Bob.

  Bob felt his face grow flushed with…no, not with what he expected. It wasn’t embarrassment. Dimly, he was aware of Carol walking toward him, getting down on her hands and knees again, and, in a direct repeat of only minutes before, playfully tugging his cock out of his shorts and starting to suck on it.

  Still watching Ted watching him, and Carol sucking his own cock, Bob smiled at him. In Carol’s mouth, his cock jumped with a sudden influx of pure lust.

  Carol, breaking her hungry relishing of his dick, said, “Bob, I really think Ted would like you to suck his cock.”

  Now Bob was embarrassed, but not enough to keep him from silently nodding agreement.

  “I’d love that,” Ted said, his voice low and rumbling. “I really would.”

  “Take your pants off, Ted,” Carol said, stroking Bob’s cock. “I want to watch.”

  Ted did, quickly shucking his shirt as well as his thread-bare jeans. He stood for a moment, letting Carol and Bob look at him. Bob had seen his friend’s cock before, but for the first time he really looked at it. Ted was tall and thin, his chest bare and smooth. His cock was big—though maybe not as big as Bob’s (a secret little smirk at that)—but handsome. It wasn’t soft, but it also wasn’t completely hard—but with Carol and Bob watching, Ted’s cock grew firmer, harder, larger, until it stuck out from his lean frame at an urgent, 45-degree angle.

  “Bob…” Carol said, her voice purring with lust, “…suck Ted’s cock. Please, suck it.”

  Ted crawled up on the sofa, lying down so that his head was on one armrest, his cock sticking straight up. His eyes were half-closed, and a sweet, sexy smile played on his lips.

  Bob reached down, turning just enough to reach his friend and not dislodge Carol from her earnest sucking of his dick, and gently took hold of Ted’s cock. It was warm, almost hot, and slightly slick with a fine sheen of sweat. He could have
looked at it for hours, days, but with Carol working hard on his own dick, he felt his pulse racing, his own hunger beating hard in his heart.

  At first he just kissed it, tasting salty pre-come. With a flash of worry that he wouldn’t be good, first he licked the tip, exploring the shape of the head with his lips and then his tongue. As his heart hammered heavier and his own cock pulsed with sensation, he finally took the head into his mouth and gently sucked and licked. Ted, bless him, gave wonderful feedback—gently moaning and bucking his slim hips just enough to let Bob know that he was doing a good job.

  As Carol worked him, he worked Ted. They were a long train of pleasure, a circuit of moans and sighs. Time seemed to stretch, distance to compress, until the whole world was just Ted’s dick in Bob’s mouth, Bob’s dick in Carol’s mouth—all on that wonderful afternoon.

  Then, before he was even aware it was happening, Bob felt his orgasm pushing, heavy and wonderfully leaden: down through his body, down through his balls, down through his cock, and—in a spasming orgasm that made him break his earnest sucking of Ted’s cock—to moan, sigh, almost scream with pleasure. Smiling at his friend, Ted followed quickly behind, with only a few quick jerks of his cock as Bob rested his head on Ted’s knee.

  Bob felt… good, like something important, magical, and special had happened. The world had grown, by just a little bit, but in a very special way. Resting against his friend’s knee, Carol kissing his belly, he smiled. Everything was all right with the world.

  Later, the sun set, and as everyone was very much exhausted by many more hours of play, Ted stumbled to the front door, Carol helping him navigate through the dim house. “Thanks for coming,” she said with a sweet coo, almost a whisper, so as not to wake the heavily slumbering Bob in the next room. She kissed him, soft and sweet, smiling to herself at the variety of tastes on his lips.