I'm far from finished with lover-boy, just warming up. 'On your back,' I command.
I sit astride him, knees on each side of his body, then go higher until I'm straddling his face. He gobbles at my cunt eagerly, his tongue swirling around my engorged clit. I grab him by that lovely hair, using it as a rein to bind him to me. I let myself go, another orgasm rising in waves, taking me to heaven again. I peak, yelling, digging my nails into his scalp. Then, leaving his mouth, I slither down, impaling myself on his upwards-pointing prick.
I take it deep inside me, pumping hard, determined to bring him off. He flips me over, wanting to be on top, and I clamp my legs around his waist as he rams harder, releasing a further hot spurt of come into the condom. It is time we changed this. I don't want a little accident, although I could always say it was my husband's. Neither do I want to pick up something nasty with a long name and fatal results.
We lie there satiated for the moment. The condom is replaced by another.
'You want some more?' He seems surprised and impressed.
'Am I too much for you?'
'Hell, no!' he protests, his manhood under question.
He is utterly charming and I'll have to keep a tight hold on my emotions. Don't want to turn into a pathetic older woman who is besotted with her toyboy.
We drink more wine, and he is obviously intrigued by his surroundings. 'I'm used to sleeping on people's floors or in tents. Never seen anything like this. Only in movies. It must have cost.'
Is he getting mercenary? The thought pops into my mind. I hope not, though it's hard to kid myself that he's there for the sake of my girlish figure and lovely face. I'm not that dumb. He's dipped his wick twice, and the first urgency will be gone. Good thing I lit the candles. It's always more flattering.
I change the subject. 'Have you ever had a massage?'
'One of the girls on a stall at the pop festival was doing them. It was cool.'
Bitch! How dare she touch his body? I'm jealous and determined to put this right.
'Roll over,' I command.
I oil my hands, admiring him all the while. There is something so appealing about a young man's body. His arms are folded and his face rests on them, turned to one side. His shoulders are wide and ripple with muscle. His torso sweeps down to a narrow waist. His buttocks are tight, more musclemoulding plains and hollows, and his thighs meld into the backs of his knees, his calves, ankles, and tapering feet. I could watch him for ever.
I start at the nape of his neck after pushing aside those raven curls. He lies still as if sleeping, perfectly relaxed. I've learned how to give a massage and, almost gloating, allow my worshipping hands to knead his flesh. I know he is enjoying the sensation, though he doesn't stir. Along his spine, working the sinews like dough, absorbing his youth, masculinity and sexuality through my fingers, then around his supple waist, enjoying the curve of his lower back, diving between his arse cheeks, so excited that I can hardly function.
I get a grip, promise myself a treat very soon, and continue to work on his thighs, knees, lower leg, and finish with his Achilles heel, thinking of Brad Pitt in the movie Troy. Luke could be a film star. I daydream of introducing him to a director I know, wondering if he could act. But then, if he were successful, I'd have to share him with a million cock-struck fans. I decide not.
He stirs a little restlessly and I guess that his prick is getting excited again under my ministrations. I'm glad I've another packet of three. I work around each toe.
'D'you want me to turn over?' he murmurs.
'Oh, yes,' I reply, straightening up as he moves with the grace of an athlete, presenting me with the wonderful sight of his dick.
I was right. It's swollen to half mast again.
I give myself a stern talking-to. Don't go for it right away. Concentrate on the rest of him. Leave his bits till last. I obey, and there's tingling anticipation in deliberately avoiding his intimate parts. But he is unable to hide anything from me and, before long, his penis is sti-, pointing upwards like a flagpole. He is unable to control his urges as he attempts to bring this mighty weapon within range of my busy hands. I get a kick out of tormenting him. So near and yet so far. Skimming around the base of his cock, tickling his balls, circling his navel, tweaking his puckered nipples, then bending and dropping a kiss on the mushroom-shaped dickhead. It is red and weeping needy tears.
'Do me!' he begs at last.
I've been waiting for this, testing myself to the limit, determined not to weaken until he asks.
'You really want me to?' I whisper, my cunt hurting with longing, my clit throbbing.
'Bloody hell!' He grabs one of my hands and plonks it on his knob.
This is too much. I'm kneeling on the floor while he mounts me, doggy-fashion. I'm rubbing my clit and coming. He pumps like crazy, throwing back his head and barking. His sperm bursts hotly into the rubber. I fall flat on the carpet with him on top of me. I rejoice in being squashed by this rampant male, a thing of little consequence before the power of his passion. Jeez! This isn't like me! Am I getting soft or something?
He lifts me and he is tender. We're under the covers, his arm around me, my head pillowed on his chest. Our pulses are slowing and we are so comfortable together. 'Can I see you again?' he wants to know.
I have been rather dreading this question. It would be terribly easy for me to fall in love with him and I don't want to be hurt. 'Why? Because I'm a good fuck?' I ask, not really wanting to know.
'Because you are a lovely lady.' He is sincere – for the moment.
'We'll see,' I prevaricate, thinking, it was great while it lasted, and I'll make it last that little bit longer. 'I've booked the room for the night.'
When I'm lonely now and wanting to feed a sexual fantasy I remember this.
Reader, I married him!
We were together 25 years until he died in 2002.
T, age 47
Bisexual
Single, occasionally sexually active
High School diploma
State worker
Massachusetts, USA
It takes a man to know what he's doing to get me to peak to orgasm as opposed to when I was younger, when all it took was a touch. I prefer passion versus just jumping into sex right away. I like to be kissed and touched and hugged. My favourite position is on top with a good hard strong penis. I like to ride. What holds me back is not being able to find a man who feels the same way. They all seem to be selfish and quick, or they just don't know how. The one or two that knew how are already taken (married). That's a turn-off after a while. What turns me on is being with an attractive female, making love to her the way I want to be made love to. Also feeling the hard body of a good-looking man moving all over me and letting me ride him to orgasm. I do wish I knew how to approach females (I'm in the closet). I don't know how to go about finding females that are bi or gay. I'd very much like to explore that avenue now. I've only been with a woman twice in my life and I very much enjoyed it. I find myself looking at attractive females. I fantasise about what it would be like to have sex with them and what I'd like to do to them – how I'd hold them or kiss them and where, how I'd like to bring them to orgasm.
Naja, age 37
Heterosexual
Celibate
No children
Some college
Customer Service Representative
Michigan, USA
I like men who are self-confident, but not condescending. A confident man tends to be a great lover. I have always loved books and words. I love to have a man talk/whisper in my ear or neck. I fantasise several times a day. Since I am in a current dry spell, my fantasy is an oldie but goodie. I would just like to have my brains screwed out. Very little talking or politeness is involved. Just fucking.
Karen, age 33
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Children
Health Advisor/University student
Southeast England, UK
Sexy
men turn me on. For me, sexy is a brilliant mind, dry wit, relaxed and easygoing, beautiful expressive eyes, a toned body, long fingers, a smile, etc., etc. No one man has to possess all these qualities, one or more will do. What is sexy about the above list is the person behind them – basically a man who's mysterious, mischievous and self-confident.
In my earlier years my sexual imagination was based purely on how a man looked – i.e., he must be good-looking. Now I want to look beyond what I see. My sexual imagination is sparked by curiosity. I can now look at a man on the train with a frazzled expression over his laptop and think, 'I wonder how he looks in the throes of passion or when he's just come?' I then want to dig deeper to find out what makes him laugh out loud. A few moments later I've created a complete fantasy, ending with him sliding a hand up my skirt and a quick hot fuck in the (train) toilets. Interesting to note that, early on, the men in my fantasies all looked the same – that is, they were black men with big dicks. That's pretty much how it was in reality, so I limited myself. Now I go there mentally with any man with an average dick, because now it's more about the sexual tension between the characters, how he uses his dick and the foreplay involved.
My favourite fantasy is a late evening encounter at the gym in an empty studio with my personal trainer. I've not put it into words before, but will attempt to do so now. I'd never met James this late before for training. I usually saw him in the mornings, but he called early to cancel our morning session and rescheduled it for 9 p.m. 'Car problems,' he'd said. As soon as I arrived we began our workout – none of our usual chit-chat and easy banter I noticed, and he pushed me harder than he'd ever done before. I'd had a stressful day myself so I welcomed the challenge.
I felt the tension draining from my body as we began sparring. I quite liked this part of the workout because I pretended James was the source of my frustration, and I kicked and punched at him with force. As the workout got more intense, our eyes locked and we began communicating silently. His eyes challenged me to work harder and vent, and mine told him that I would. 'Why are you so frustrated?' hazel eyes asked. 'Because I'm horny and I really, really want to fuck you!' brown eyes responded. 'Really!' his eyes narrowed and mine narrowed in return. We retraced our steps until I was backed against the wall. Without taking his eyes off mine, he slid off his protective hand gear and I slid off my gloves. I took a drink and he took off the protective leg gear I was kicking against. All this time our eyes never strayed from each other's. He walked towards me and held out his hands. I slipped mine into his and he pulled me close. My breathing became erratic and almost stopped when his lips touched mine. It was so gentle my eyes closed and my legs felt weightless. James backed me against the wall and slipped open my mouth with his tongue. He tasted of sex and that raised my pulses to a new level. I sucked gently on his lower lip while he teased my top lip. His hands delivered little electric shocks wherever they went. He groped my ass and pulled me hard towards him so that I could feel his rigid erection. I began to moan quite loudly, which echoed around the empty studio. I opened my eyes when his hands slipped into my leotard and found my wet pussy. 'Can I touch you?' his eyes asked. 'Hell yes!' mine responded. He slipped his finger inside my wetness and I groaned deeply. I began to grind against his finger and slipped my hand inside his shorts. As I touched him I felt my body go weak against him and the kiss deepened. His cock was hot and throbbing, hard as steel. I could hear our pleasure sounds reverberating around the empty room. I longed for him to lay me down and bury his cock inside me. The only light in the room was the slits of street lighting through the blinds so I couldn't see him very well. I released his cock and steadied his finger inside me. Our eyes met again and mine pleaded, 'I want you now, fuck me please!' His eyes darkened in response and he caught his breath. I knew he wanted to, yet he made no move to release me from my standing position against the wall. 'I am so close to the edge, let me feel you inside me before I explode,' my eyes begged. He lowered his head and took my lips in his mouth so that I couldn't see his refusal. Be patient, I told myself, but couldn't form a coherent thought when he was kissing me like that! With his finger inside me, he began stroking my clit with his thumb and I felt my orgasm building. I desperately wanted to spread open my legs and clench his cock with my hot wet pussy. In my fantasies he'd been naked and I caressed his muscles with unbridled pleasure while he rose above me time and again, driving me to the brink. But in this moment it was not to be. My hand tightened around his cock and I stroked him as though he were fucking me. Our breathing and moaning meant we were both about to explode. James slowed his hand movements down to maximise the pleasure for me and I increased the pressure for him. Sliding two fingers inside me, James grabbed my ass with his other hand so that his wrist was putting even more pressure on my clit. I had to grab him with both hands as I came. My body spasmed involuntarily for ages and I sounded as though I were weeping. Feeling selfish, I reached for his cock to pleasure him as much as he had pleasured me, but James stopped me. 'Why?' I asked, using my voice for the first time that evening. 'Because I can't sleep with my clients. It's a sacking offence. If you pleasure me, I would feel that I had crossed the line and it would be difficult for us to work together after tonight.'
Releasing a deep breath I didn't realise I was holding, I gathered my things and left. I continued having aftershocks while walking towards my car as my clit was still quite swollen. I wasn't satisfied. I had come but I still wanted him desperately. I knew the only thing that would satisfy me was his cock inside me, fucking me hard. I'd be patient, my time would come.
Sara, age 20
Bisexual
Steady relationship, not live-in
No children
University student
Illinois, USA
The best sex I ever had happened with my boyfriend. After polishing off a bottle of champagne together, we made love. We were making out, and the clothes came off. He ran his hands over my whole body, then followed his hands with his lips, slowly down to my pussy, then used his tongue to pleasure me while playing with my nipples with his fingers. Once I started to get really hot, I got on top of him in reverse-cowgirl and leaned back, moving myself up and down his cock, while he used his fingers on my clit to bring me to orgasm. He followed soon after. Unfortunately, I don't often come during sex, so this is one of the few times I can remember that I actually did, and it therefore must count as the best sex I've had so far.
Tight-lacing corsets are a huge turn-on for me, whether I'm the one laced up or whether they're on someone else. In erotic fiction or films, I prefer women over men, despite only ever having had sexual encounters with men. The same things continue to turn me on, plus the comfort of being in a loving relationship. I wish I could be more imaginative, but so far my fantasies are pretty much limited to things I've personally experienced. I fantasise about my boyfriend a lot, especially when we're apart for long periods of time. I like to replay previous encounters with him in my mind, or imagine what will happen the next time we're together in bed.
Alison, age 43
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Graduate degree
English teacher
Malaysia and China
I've written my 'Thetis' fantasy as a short story.
By some miracle, you find you have some time to show me the yacht. You know I would like to see it, although I am much more interested in the places where you play, the engine rooms, even the bilge tanks, rather than the luxury spaces that most people enjoy.
You text me: 'You free? Come to port, something to show you!' For you, of course, I am free, and although I was having lunch in Poble Nou with some friends, I hop in a taxi and am with you in about thirty minutes. I'm not really dressed for a trip around a yacht, wearing that same yellow skirt with high heels that I wore to the Princess, and just a cream cardigan, buttoned up.
There are people about, still lots to be done, people doing whatever they do on boats, splicing main braces and he
aving to, so when we meet we can only do the Spanish kiss on the cheek and there's absolutely no question of holding hands except, of course, when you help me over steps and other tricky manoeuvres like that.
I don't really know the layout of boats, so I can't really quite imagine the route. Maybe you can tell me, but we start on the decks, you showing me the Jacuzzi, empty, the sun lounge. We are aware that people are popping in and out of doors, but the desire between us is electric; we are smiling as I ask you ridiculous questions and you try hard to answer them so I can understand, only for me to ask you a really clever one to challenge you, which you like.
We go inside into the owner's rooms; here is it quieter, hushed, the air very still. Suddenly we start to talk more quietly, we stand closer, our bodies almost touching, as we walk around, you touching my shoulder, ostensibly to guide me; I rest my hand on your back, possibly for support. We just need to touch each other!
You throw open the owner's bedroom suite with a flourish, and we both burst out giggling. We know exactly what we'd like to do, and the knowledge that we can't is both tantalising and hilarious. You make some very lewd suggestions about the size of the bed, and I pretend to be offended and flounce off into the bathroom. You move in behind me, quickly closing and locking the door.
I am standing in front of the big mirror above the sink and you come up behind me, slowly; you put your arms around me and I lean back into you. Silence. It feels good at last to be so close to each other again. We can feel each other breathing deeply. You bend down and slowly kiss me on the side of the neck. I gasp, your lips, so sensual, so soft, gently caress my skin and with one hand you lift my hair and move your kisses to the back of my neck. I can see your head bent low in the mirror and I raise my hands to reach into your thick hair. With your other hand, you reach into my cardigan, softly stroking the skin of my chest and then my breasts until you reach a nipple; already hard, you gently caress it, and again I moan with deep deep pleasure and you smile happily.
The New Black Lace Book of Women's Sexual Fantasies Page 3
