Mommy's Hot Erotica

by Alina Sawyer

  Annie grabbed my face with her hands and kissed me, probing my mouth with her tongue. The wonderful feeling of being attached at two orifices forced my balls to tighten in preparation for ejecting my seed. She sensed my impending orgasm and encouraged me on. She stopped kissing me and pressed her cheek next to mine as she picked up the pace with which we fucked.

  "I can't wait to taste your cum," she whispered through panting breaths, trying to fight off the arrival of her fifth orgasm of the evening. She failed. With trembling groans she stiffened in my arms which actually made it easier for me to fuck her. But the increased friction caused by the constricting of her love-tunnel when she came pushed me closer to the edge too.

  Soon Annie regained control of her orgasm-wracked body. She then set about fucking me with the sole purpose of getting me to cum. She braced her elbows on top of my shoulders, clutched my head, and began swinging her hips so that her pulsating pussy sheathed and unsheathed itself deeply on my pole.

  "Yes, yes, yes," she squealed, her thighs smacking wetly against mine with each exclamation. "Cum for me, baby!"

  I had never fucked anybody like this in real life; only saw it done on film, but I quickly reached the point of no return and I told her that.

  "Holy fuck, Annie, I'm gonna cum," I said, so she hopped off my cock and knelt in front of me.

  The first emission flopped out, thick and viscous and settled onto her chin just short of her opened mouth. The next one shot out with considerable force, catching both of us by surprise. It flew into the back of her throat and almost went down the wrong tube. She wretched, bringing it back into her mouth before it could enter her trachea. Most of the third and fourth ejaculations followed the path of the second, but this time she blocked them both with her tongue and allowed her mouth to slowly fill with cum. After the fifth and sixth I could no longer see her tongue under the pool of cum she cradled in her mouth. With her index finger she pushed the glob of semen on her chin up and over her lower lip and in to her mouth.

  I squeezed the last drops of cum onto her tongue and flopped down on the couch, spent. Her cheeks now bulged with the creamy goo as she closed her mouth slowly and carefully. With the most delightful twinkle in her eyes, Annie crawled up on the couch and knelt next to me. I watched her close her eyes, tilt her head back, suck her cheeks in, and swallow my load. She sat back on her heels licking her lips and scraping cum from her face and sucking it off her fingers. She was savoring every drop. She looked over at me to gauge my reaction.

  "You really do like cum, don't you?" I asked.

  With raised eyebrows, she shook her head enthusiastically.

  "I honestly think I'm addicted to it," she said smiling and looking down as if a bit embarrassed to have admitted it.

  I shouldn't have, but I took advantage of her momentary vulnerability to make a comment. It was meant to hurt. I was pissed that I had fallen in love with a slut and I wanted her to know that. But at the same time, I was hoping that I could shame her into entering into a monogamous relationship with me. I so wanted to have her for myself, to save her from herself.

  "So, who's cum tastes better, mine or Richard's?" I asked. I didn't smile when I said it. She stopped smiling too.

  "Oh, so he told you about that?" she asked quietly, sensing that the tone of my voice had changed.

  "Yeah, well, guys will do that, you know," I said in a belittling tone.

  She stared at me quietly for a few seconds, and then she looked down.

  "Well, I better get going," she said. "Things are beginning to get weird."

  I felt horrible. I watched her stand and walk back across the room to retrieve her dress.

  'God, she's got a big ass', I said to myself. 'I can't help it but I fucking love it and I love her.'

  "I'm really sorry," I said. "You were right. You told me not to fall in love with you."

  She put her dress on with her back to me and then turned to face me.

  "I'm sorry. I fell in love with you, and for a moment there I was acting all 'weird' as you said, but I'm cool now. I apologize."

  She still didn't say anything, but she did sit back down on the couch next to me to put on her shoes. I continued to try to honestly express my feelings without acting like the hurt lover who was now feeling sorry for himself. After my fumbling about for words, she leaned over and gently put her fingers over my lips.

  "Please, don't..." she said. "You're not making it any easier."

  I sat quietly and looked at her sad face. The tenderness with which she touched my lips caused all kinds of emotions to well up inside of me. I struggled to keep them at bay. I failed.

  "I love you," I said. I meant it.

  "I know," she said. "But I'm still a slut, and I always will be." She spoke the words almost defiantly. I sat quietly again, allowing the reality of what she'd said sink in.

  "Don't you ever worry about...," I stopped my question in mid-sentence. She looked at me as if she knew what I was going to ask.

  "Well, you fucked me without one too," she said answering me anyway. She had a point there. She put her left shoe on.

  "Will there ever be a time when..." Again, I stopped in mid-sentence.

  "I don't know, Mike. Right now, I like what I'm doing and I'm going to keep doing it until I decide not to," she said.

  I had the feeling she'd had this conversation with other men. She put her right shoe on and stood up, smoothing her dress over her round ass. My mind began to run a mile a minute. I began to think three moves ahead as if I were playing chess. Speed chess.

  "I want to see you again," I said boldly.

  She looked at me with a frown that said 'haven't you heard a word I've said to you?' I held her gaze with as earnest an expression as I could create. Eventually her frown turned into that twisted grin of hers, and she reached into her hand bag and pulled out her business card and a pen.

  "This is my cell," she said writing on the back.

  She handed it to me then bent down and gave me a big wet sloppy French kiss with lots of tongue that lasted maybe ten seconds. Annie then turned and walked out, leaving me to wonder why I wasn't grossed out by the taste of my own cum.

  The End.

  Skin Deep

  "It's okay," she said, looking him right in the eye, "you can touch them if you want. I mean, you're so freaking obvious, y'know? You've been staring at my tits for the last ten minutes. So go ahead, touch them. I won't mind."

  Brian shook his head. Had she really said that? Or were his ears playing tricks on him? Perhaps he'd misunderstood her words, muffled by the constant hum of the train's engine, the rickety thump, thump of the wheels speeding along the tracks.

  She shook her head. "I knew it."

  She knew what? What was her problem?

  "Guys like you are all alike," she said. She wasn't looking at him now, though. She had the window seat, and was taking full advantage of it before night came and inked out the view. They were passing through the farm belt of western Illinois, not far from the Mississippi River. Fields of corn swayed languorously in the hot August breeze. "You're all just a bunch of cowards. Fakes."

  Fakes? Who was she calling a fake?

  "You," she said, and now she did swivel her head around to look at him again. There was something penetrating about her eyes, as if they somehow could see through him, into him, his inner secrets and weaknesses and regrets and failings all revealed. He felt naked in the face of her stare.

  "You don't know the first thing about me," he shot back. His voice had a whiny tinge to it. It always did when someone got him riled. He hated that.

  "Don't I?" she said. "I know you want to touch my tits, but are too chicken to try it, how's that for starters?"

  Swell. Just swell, for starters.

  "Pathetic, if you ask me," she said. So, who asked her? "You know, I bet you feel afraid when you're around people, am I right? Especially women. Especially hot women, women you want to fuck. Am I right? Or am I right?"

  He moved further aw
ay from her in his seat, edging his ass toward the aisle. He gained another two, maybe three inches of separation. Not nearly enough.

  The train lurched, and he nearly fell over, into the aisle. Fuck. A fat, bald man shuffled past, toward the small restroom at the front of the car.

  "So I ask you again, do you want to touch my tits? Lick them? Pinch my nipples, make them good and stiff and erect for you? Hmm? Tell me what you want."

  Before he could answer, she surprised him. She grabbed his right hand, which had been resting primly on his lap, and brought it to her left breast. He tried to pull away, but she had a firm grip on him.

  "Feel me up . . ." Here, she paused. "What's your name, anyway?"

  His name? This woman, this total stranger, whom he'd just nodded hello to for the first time in his life twenty minutes ago when he boarded the train, had kidnapped his hand and was making him fondle her tit. And she was asking him his name? Acting like this was normal? Like this was what total strangers did upon meeting?

  And yet, all he said was, "Brian."

  She smiled. He tried to free himself from her grasp, but couldn't, or wouldn't—he wasn't sure which. The fat man who had gone to the restroom came back down the aisle, heading for his seat, and threw Brian and the woman a "what the hell do you think you're doing" look. But he said nothing.

  She reached over to shake his free hand with her free hand. "Hey, Brian. I'm Susan. And it is Susan, okay? None of this Sue crap."

  She let go of his free hand, but continued to pin the hand that was on her breast firmly in place.

  "Pinch my nipple," she said then. He just stared at her, open-mouthed. "Do it, Brian." He did it. "Harder. I'm not a fucking china doll. I won't break." He pinched her harder. She smiled. He swallowed. This was fucked up, Totally fucked up. But her tit felt great. Her nipple felt perky and hard.

  Then, as unexpectedly as when she had grabbed his hand and placed it onto her breast, she pushed it away. Instinctively he resisted—for a second. His fingers were getting used to the feel of her full, round tit beneath the thin fabric of her summer blouse. But of course he let her push his hand away. Of course he did.

  "Why'd you do that, Brian?"

  "Do what?"

  "Let me push your hand off my tit. You liked playing with my tit. Didn't you?" Again she was looking at him, looking into him, her blue eyes probing, prodding, like laser beams, like twin scalpels cutting into him, opening him up to her. . . . "Didn't you, Brian?"

  "Well, I . . . yes. I mean, how could I not?"

  She smirked at him, flicked her head back. Her light-blonde hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid gold. "Then why'd you let me push you away, if you liked it so much?"

  "Well I didn't want to touch you if you didn't want me to . . ."

  "I told you before, you can touch my tits. Didn't I?" She shook her head. "See? Just like I said. You're a coward. A people-pleaser. You do what everyone expects of you. Don't want to step on any toes, or pinch any nipples, as the case may be. Doesn't that fucking get you down after a while, Brian? I mean, really. Don't you sometimes just want to be a fucking man every once in a while?"

  He shook his head. She didn't know what she was talking about.

  "Don't I? When was the last time you actually asserted yourself, Brian? Stood up for something you believe in? Or don't you even have any strong beliefs?"

  What the hell was she doing? Just a minute ago she had him touching her tit. Now she was rambling about strong beliefs? Damn. Why did she have to be the one he sat next to? Why couldn't he sit next to some nice, quiet old woman with her nose in a book, or some hairy fat dude with a fantasy football magazine. Anyone would have been better than this wacko.

  "What's your take on abortion?" she asked then.

  Abortion? None of her business!

  "I bet you don't have one. You can see both sides of the argument, right?"

  He didn't answer. He wasn't going to be lured.

  "How about the death penalty?" she pursued. "Should the murderers fry? Or just be put away?"

  "Well . . ."

  "Or the health-care crisis. You think there should be universal health care for everyone, Brian?"

  "Well, that depends. I mean . ."

  "See? Told you. You haven't got any firm convictions. You're fucking softer than cheese, Brian. I bet, when you go out to dinner with a date, you let her pick off the menu, for both of you. Am I right?"

  Well . . . but what was wrong with being considerate? If his date didn't like what she ordered, she could always try what he had. And if she ordered for both of them, chances were she'd like at least one of the selections.

  She shook her head again, peered out the window. Dusk was descending like a veil. Looking past her, out the window, Brian saw the glow of a farmhouse porch light as it flickered on, a beacon in a sea of prairie grass and cornfields.

  "Pathetic," she said. "You're even worse than I thought. You probably don't even know who you are, Brian."

  "Fuck you," he shot back.

  "Mmmm, I'd love to," she said. "Where are you headed?"

  That did it. Either this chick was high on something or a full-blown schizo. How else to explain it?

  "Denver," he said. Why had he shared that? Why? Maybe she was right. Maybe he just went along with what other people wanted of him, expected of him. Maybe he'd been that way all his life, and just never really thought about it.

  "How about that," she said. "So am I." Perfect. Just fucking beautiful. "Taking a vacation. A little R & R. Much deserved, if I do say so myself. How about you, Brian? You on a trip? Or is Denver home?"

  "No. I'm going on business." Yes. Business. His boss told him he wanted Brian to attend a seminar. The company would pay for it. Brian couldn't believe the extravagance. In this economy? "It'll give you a deeper perspective and appreciation of what we're trying to accomplish," his boss said. "It'll be worth its weight in gold." Brian doubted this very much—thought the idea was stupid. He wondered if by going on this company-provided field trip, he was forfeiting his raise for this year. After all, there was only so much money to go around. . . .

  But he didn't protest. If this is what the boss wanted him to do . . .

  "Good," Susan said. "We can stay at the same hotel, then. I didn't make any reservations. Where are you staying?"

  There was no way he'd tell her, no way he'd spend one minute with her after they disembarked from the train.

  He told her.

  She smiled, licked her lips. "We'll have fun," she said.

  What was she talking about? Fun? She'd just told him he was pathetic.

  "That doesn't mean I don't like you," she said. "It doesn't mean I don't think you're extremely fuckable. It doesn't even mean I think you're hopeless. I think I just might be able to help you, Brian."

  He didn't want her damn help. He just wanted to be left alone. But he didn't say anything more about it. They still had a long night of travel ahead of them. Hopefully he'd fall asleep, and she'd fall asleep, and she'd forget the whole thing. When they woke up in the morning, they'd ride in silence, get off at Denver, and go their separate ways.

  ¦

  "So, where's our hotel?" she said when they got off the train. It was morning, and a strong Rocky mountain sun was shining down on LoDo from a deep blue, cloudless sky. It was the kind of morning that might cheer you up, refresh you, instill you with optimism. But the circumstances being what they were, he felt anything but optimistic.

  "Look, I . . ."

  She touched his lips with her finger. He noticed how long and perfect her nails were. He'd noticed on the train, too. And he'd noticed other things. Her tits, of course. He'd been up close and personal with those. She was a knockout. Tall, slim, shapely, with full, sensuous lips and a thin, long nose that looked sharp enough to cut glass. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to her. But still, this was crazy.

  "It's okay," she said. "I won't get in your way, Brian. I know you're here on business. So you do what you have to do. B
ut we can still share a room. I'll find things to entertain myself, don't worry. But when you get back from your day, when I get back from my day . . . we can laugh and play and fuck each other's brains out all night long. Now. How does that sound?"

  A wave of unreality crashed over him. This sort of thing never happened to guys like him. He didn't know if he should feel scared, bitter, ambivalent, or downright lucky. He looked her over again—the full breasts, the hour-glass figure, the long blonde hair. What the hell. When would he ever get another chance like this?

  "That's the spirit," she said.

  ¦

  He barely listened to the presentation at the seminar later that day. His mind kept wandering to Susan. He wondered what she would look like, unwrapped, naked, standing before him in their hotel room overlooking downtown Denver, with lust in those penetrating blue eyes. Without even being aware of it, he was getting a hard-on. But then he thought about the train ride, the way she had analyzed him, insulted him.

  Told the truth.

  She was right. He was a people-pleaser, had been all his life. It was such a default mode to him, he did it without thinking. He did anything and everything to fit in, to be liked. One time, on a trip to South Carolina, he'd even taken it upon himself to speak in a southern drawl. The funny thing was, he wasn't even aware of it until someone he was with pointed it out to him. Even now, that he was out West, he felt an urge to go buy himself a cowboy hat.

  Well, what did it matter? He'd have fun tonight. If he could just focus on having fun, that was. Too often, when he had a chance at an attractive woman, he blew it. Performance anxiety, he supposed. He tried so hard to please her, to be the lover of her dreams, that all he ended up doing was cumming too soon, deflating too soon. One time, when he had a sexy Italian woman on her knees before him, her lips on his cock, he felt his manhood shrink, grow soft. He was worried that she might not like his dick, that he wasn't big enough, wasn't handsome enough.

  The Italian woman slapped him, stormed away. She was insulted, and told him so. No man had ever gone soft while she sucked him before. He tried to stop her, tell her it was his fault, it had nothing to do with her. He was just nervous, insecure.